


A List on Parchment

by meshkol (ashernorton)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Character Study, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Post-War, Severus Snape Lives, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Walking In On Someone, post-war politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashernorton/pseuds/meshkol
Summary: When Severus first wakes up toAfter, it takes him approximately fourteen minutes to decide three non-negotiable plans when moving forward in this strange, alien world, written on a simple piece of parchment. The first is removing himself from all things people, the second is finding a way to support himself while also monetarily giving reparations to the Wizarding world as a whole, and the third is finding a way to live with himself until he can finally die in peace, preferably with a painful potion once he's finally assured that he's done enough to atone for the horrible atrocities he's committed in his miserable life.Then his careful plans are upended because of idiotic lunacy and a lack of sane foresight, and he is forced to open his isolated home to first Draco, then to his imbecilic and horrid fiancé, whom Severus loathes above all else other than himself.To his surprise, though, everything seems to change, almost so slowly that he doesn't realise it. Suddenly, Severus finds himself falling into an easy companionship with the one person he'd never expected to, and he can't help but ponder whether those resolute plans are as solid as he once thought they were.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148
Collections: Snape Bigbang 2019





	A List on Parchment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bevan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bevan/gifts).



> Written for the [Snape Bang](https://snapebang.tumblr.com/). Thank you muchly for putting this bang on, and I greatly enjoyed the experience.
> 
> The truly magnificent art embedded into this story is done by Spam, who can be found [on tumblr](https://spamelotte.tumblr.com/) and [on ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bevan/profile). Please show some love for these lovely, remarkable, whimsical pieces!
> 
> Please enjoy this story and mind the tags, as this fic gets heavy in some places, and please do not hesitate to let me know if you believe there should be additional tags/warnings included.

When Severus first wakes up to _After_ , it takes him approximately fourteen minutes to decide three non-negotiable plans when moving forward in this strange, alien world.

Strange and alien because one, he hadn’t even expected to survive for there to be an _After_ to begin with, and two, after a lifetime of being labelled as a monstrous leper in all but affliction, he is...unused to being lauded in its stead. The whole ordeal is highly uncomfortable at the least, and infuriating at its worst: a parade of Healers and unwelcome ‘visitors’ that are unendingly polite and respectful, even when he is snappish and surly; the flood of flowers and cards from ‘well-wishers’ and ‘fans’ that make the hospital room reek of pollen; Ministry officials looking for their political bump when they attempt to invade his space with reporters to document their scripted words, which drip with false niceties; Kinglsey Shacklebolt himself sweeping in with an Order of Merlin, First Class, mercifully without reporters but apparently feeling it necessary to include every Department Head in the history of the Ministry.

Harry Potter visiting his hospital bed – a few days after Severus had woken, an incident that had started awkward and stilted before quickly digressing into spitting words, scathing digs, and eventually Potter slamming the door with a roar of _Fuck you Snape!_ ringing in Severus’s ears – is an entirely different galling event that is beyond description.

The first order of business, of course, is obviously removing himself from all things _people_ , and once he is finally discharged (after all but spitting his demands for the requisite potions he needed to heal to the imbecilic Mediwizards and Potioneers employed by St Mungos), he puts this plan into effect immediately. The vast majority of his salary during his tenure at Hogwarts had been stored away in Gringotts – the only spending he had been doing during his years teaching was purchasing exotic potions ingredients that the school hadn’t supplied on-hand or extra clothing and robes, which hadn’t accounted for much over the years. Additionally, Severus had been patenting and developing potions and spells over the decade, which had increased the amount of coin in his vault, though research and development was notorious for not being a high-paying endeavour. Not to mention that, with the help of a specialist in these sorts of affairs, Severus sells Spinner’s End within his first week of consciousness, though he practically gives it away due to his desperate need to be free of the property as well as the atrocious location and state of it. Combined with the Galleons he’d received for the Order of Merlin, he has a nest egg; nothing too extravagant, but enough to put his plan into motion by exchanging the majority of his vault’s coin into Muggle pounds and all but fleeing the Wizarding world.

He buys a Muggle house in Scotland, close to the other end of the Forbidden Forest but as far away from Hogwarts as possible. It gives him the opportunity to haunt his favourite grounds – a landscape that he knows better than even his own mind on occasion, courtesy of a lifetime of not being _real_ in exchange for repaying a debt – for unsullied potions ingredients and solitude while also being able to explore the mountains that surround the barrier for more. The barrier itself is altered to allow him admittance to the forest, courtesy of Minerva herself, and she is the Secret Keeper of his property as well, as there is no human being left alive that Severus could feasibly entrust with that Secret and be assured that they will undoubtedly take it to their grave.

The second order of business is finding a way to support himself while also monetarily giving reparations to the Wizarding world as a whole. The purchase of the property had been done in hard currency with no names shared, and while it is not an extravagant place – three bedroom, rather run down though a step up from Spinner’s End, and an old coal cellar that he’d expanded and reinforced with a great deal of difficulty in order to brew in an optimum environment – it had taken almost all of his savings to acquire it. The rest of said savings had gone to purchasing ingredients in bulk, considering the majority of his furniture had been taken from his Hogwarts quarters and the rest had been gifted from Minerva (and, he suspects, Albus’s portrait giving instruction).

The most obvious way forward is potions. There are many unpatented recipes that he has been sitting on for over twenty years, hidden away in his brain or heavily-warded hideaways. The primary reason the potions have remained out of public consumption was because he hadn’t wanted the ‘opposing’ side – first Albus’s side, then the Dark Lord’s – to have access to superior or novel potions, which would’ve been an impediment on their war effort: improved pain relievers, nerve damage repairs, limb regrowth, et cetera. Another reason was because Severus had hoarded information as currency, first because he’d needed it to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces and then, of course, because it had ensured that particular potions hadn’t ended up in the wrong hands, leading to reverse-brewing or retaliatory potions being developed. Naturally, another major reason had been because Severus, being a prior Death Eater despite Albus’s testimony on his behalf, had had to go through countless hoops just to get the Ministry and ICW to even look at his potions, let alone receive a patent so said potions could hit the global market.

For that last snag, waking up in this strange and alien world does admittedly help matters – his newfound ‘hero’ status, courtesy of Potter’s surprising and relentless PR campaign on his behalf _After_ , enables him to get patents and contracts at a previously-inconceivable rate of speed, which is...rather beneficial, if Severus is honest. His nerve reparation potion, initially created for the Longbottoms but capable of being used on individuals outside of Cruciatus spell damage, hits the market five weeks after waking up _After_ , the ICW human trials likely rushed through due to the post-War environment (though he knows that it works from personal experience). His modified Polyjuice potion – one that would change the very genetics of the drinker permanently for the betterment of almost-instantaneous limb and skin growth, enable transgender individuals to completely rewrite their genetic code to an opposing biology with concurrent potions and charms, or resetting targeted biology completely in order to reset genetic abnormalities brought about by any matter of magical or mundane afflictions to a pre-affliction state – goes through a bit slower, but four months is astronomically faster than the years he would’ve been forced to wait _Before_.

In any case, the patenting of a few dozen potions in very short order both increases his finances (allowing him to purchase more ingredients and donate the rest to reparations and charities, anonymously of course) and also allows him to help people as a general rule, from war injuries to general betterment of life itself.

Which leads in nicely to the third and final order of business on his plans for _After_ : finding a way to live with himself until he can finally die in peace.

It is...not easy to do that, even with all of the potions he’s put out into the world and the money he’s been returning to the people. Every night at exactly eleven, he sits in one of the four rickety chairs at his rickety kitchen table with a piece of parchment and a quill, staring down at the meagre list of things he has to complete before he finally feels like he’s done _enough_ to atone, wondering if there is anything else he should add to it in an effort to repay the horrible atrocities in his life. Once that list is complete, he can go to his lab, brew an incurable poison that will be unspeakably painful for him to ingest ( _he deserves nothing less_ ), and then finally feel like he’s paid his pittance.

There is only one thing left on the parchment now. It’s a lofty goal, one that is time consuming and incredibly laborious, mostly because it’s a cure for lycanthropy. The Wolfsbane is a remarkable invention indeed, but a total cure is the crown jewel of the Potions Guild and the subject of a collective effort between all Potioneers. The entire Guild has been working on a cure since the inception of their order, and there’s no denying that they’re close as a community. Of course, Severus has his own personal reasons for wanting to see it done ( _the terror never goes away the fear of Lupin the horror of Greyback and what he did in front of Severus and to all of those children_ ), but there is an intellectual curiosity that’s also undeniably there. The only thing that’s missing from his quest to find a cure is the old thirst for fame and fortune – and there’s no denying that whoever finally solves it will certainly be famous and rich – because, if Severus is perfectly honest, he thinks he’s attained both enough notoriety and fame to last a lifetime.

Regardless of who patents a cure first, Severus _will_ see it happen, either by his own work or from someone else in the Guild, unless he dies first (and that is always a possibility, he supposes).

It is mid-March, six years and ten months into _After_ , when the parchment is finally altered from its original creation and giving him another reason to suffer life for that much longer, and once again, it’s all Potter’s fault.

Typical.

* * *

The Malfoys, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, had come out relatively intact _After_.

All three had predictably been taken into custody by the Aurors, according to the _Prophet_ , but between Potter, Granger, Weasley, and a large assortment of other Order members, the trials had been quick and to-the-point. Narcissa and Draco had both gotten off with time served, a mercifully short two and six weeks respectively, but Lucius had been sentenced with a mediocre seven years. Severus had been surprised by the short length but obviously hadn’t gotten involved – the last thing he needed was Draco sending him a barrage of owls in pique.

The only person he converses in-person with is Minerva, when she has the time, and therefore any information regarding Draco and Narcissa’s exploits in _After_ are by post and report only. He doesn’t trust the tabloids as far as he can throw them, but even Skeeter has her own vein of truth like any decent reporter and therefore, with the varied confirmations when Draco writes, he does have a fairly good indication of how they’ve been conducting themselves. The Malfoy family had been so nonsensically wealthy that even the financial reparations hadn’t affected them much, and between unending charity work as well as Narcissa and Draco’s own smooth assimilations into ‘hero’ status (complete with their own Order of Merlin’s, albeit at a lower grade than Severus’s), they bounce back nicely.

He knows Narcissa spends most of her time making connections and volunteering, which is wholly unsurprising. She is a proper Pure-blood wife, and being able to make a public statement is in her blood; she has a lot of much-needed damage control to do before Lucius’s release from Azkaban, and while Severus has always been aware that Lucius is ridiculously good at twisting a narrative in his favour, the confirmation of his Death Eater status as well as his two stints in Azkaban (not to mention the breakout, which certainly hadn’t helped matters) means that his social standing has been heavily tarnished. If the Malfoys hadn’t been so wealthy and his wife hadn’t been the politically untouchable Narcissa, Severus is highly assured that he would’ve never recovered.

Draco, on the other hand, loses his ever-loving mind in the most predictable of ways, in Severus’s opinion.

Of course, the fact that Draco becomes the socialite he was raised to be isn’t surprising in the least – as intelligent and ambitious as Draco is, he’s still a Malfoy, and instead of being forced to get a job like the vast majority of people (Severus included) in order to feed themselves, he goes into political lobbying, throwing Malfoy money around for various causes. It’s smart, for sure, and increases his own social capital in exchange for Lucius’s; most people in _After_ will look to Draco rather than Lucius as the patriarch, and for damn good reason. Draco still has his biases and prejudices, to be sure, but between the political climate of _After_ and the fact that Lucius himself isn’t interfering in an effort to brainwash his only child with Pure-blood dogma, Draco learns to have his own opinions, for better or for worse.

Well, mostly for worse, considering he begins associating with Gryffindors and _begins dating Potter_.

Severus can only see Draco’s highly publicised relationship with Potter as a serious lack of sane judgement, but he can’t say it’s not predictable. The two of them have been obsessed with each other since the first moment they laid eyes on each other, Severus suspects, and his past digs into Potter’s woefully unprotected mind as well as Draco’s unceasing complaining about Potter during his school-days only reinforced that opinion. Considering that Draco’s developed a mind of his own – a proper teenaged rebellion a few years too late – and the _Prophet_ having foolproof photographic evidence of Potter constantly being in the Malfoys’ presence – a glaringly obvious PR campaign to sway the public in the immediate aftermath of the war’s conclusion which had eventually morphed into the aforementioned romance – Severus can’t honestly say that he didn’t see it coming. He’s appalled at Draco’s lack of taste, for sure, and he absolutely _loathes_ Potter, but even if Draco truly does enjoy Potter’s company (or even _loves_ him, which Severus genuinely suspects, to his own horror), Severus can see the pros to such a union. If anything, it’s politically brilliant for Draco to be tied to the Golden Boy, especially in combination with his good deeds in politics and charity, and has certainly encouraged the public to embrace the Malfoy family with open arms once again.

That is, until Lucius gets out of prison, which directly correlates with the addition of another goal on his bit of parchment.

He’d read in the _Prophet_ that Lucius had been granted early release for good behaviour last week but hadn’t thought much more of it – after all, it was only a measly two months in advance, and it wasn’t as if Severus was going to remove himself from his total isolation to go congratulate him. Severus has never cared for Lucius outside of what the Malfoy patriarch could give him, and that hasn’t changed even in _After_. He’d read it, replied back to Draco’s owls with his usual flat correspondence, and other than a brief moment of thought as to how Lucius would take the new status quo (and Draco’s relationship with Potter, still going strong after over five years together), he’d pushed it from his mind in exchange for his research.

Then, on the thirteenth, he gets The Letter, and his life is totally upended due to Potter once again (though he does suppose that Lucius is also to blame, but it is much more satisfying to blame Potter):

> _Severus,_
> 
> _I do hope that your final stretch of research is going well. I haven’t a doubt as to your proficiency, and considering the general chatter in the academic community, you must be fairly close to a solution. Master Delmonico says that you’ve come up with a concept that has gotten the Guild into rather a stir of excitement. He says that you are looking to begin human trials in a few months, if and when the Wizengamot allows you to conduct these trials on human subjects? I cannot see them denying you this, as there are many inmates in Azkaban (including the abominable Greyback) that are werewolves, and who better to experiment on than despicable excuses for living creatures? In any case, good luck with this, though I sure you will not need it – your brilliance is renowned for very good reason, and if anyone can develop the illusive cure, it would be you._
> 
> _On a more serious and personal note, I’m sure you’ve heard that Father was released from the aforementioned Azkaban nearly a fortnight ago. We certainly expected friction in that regard, of course, but it has been rather more than we were expecting. He hasn’t much of a problem with Mother’s actions, though he is not best pleased at her more liberal expenditures nor the dismissal of the elves, so there has been minimal ire at her. As you very well know, contrary to popular belief, it was a love match between them, regardless of the arranged marriage, so it is to be expected that he would warm to her arguments post-haste regarding the good she’s done for our family name._
> 
> _However, he is not nearly as magnanimous with me. Our intent was to slowly introduce him to my own political endeavours, as well as my relationship with Harry, but of course he found out all at once this morning and it has resulted in quite the predicament. Mother says that she will work to bring him around, of which I haven’t a doubt will soon be successful, but in the interim, I am in a precarious position._
> 
> _As of this morning, I have been formally disowned with not a knut to my name until I bow to his demands, which are as thus: abandon all lobbying for Muggle-born equalisation, terminate all association with Muggle-born and Muggle-born supporting individuals, cease both platonic and romantic association with Harry, and enter a courtship with an approved Pure-blood woman in anticipation of marriage and children. I have, of course, told him no, not only because I believe in the causes I am supporting and have genuine friendships with Muggle-borns such as Hermione, but also because I am in love with Harry, with all of my soul. I do not know if I’ve told you, but he asked me to marry him Severus, once Kingsley formally officiated the law of marriage between all people regardless of gender, and I have accepted his hand. We have plans for children, as we are both in need of an heir (though Harry just wants children in general, and is a philistine in regards to family seats, so he hasn’t a care about formalities), so I will have a Pure-blood heir to my name. Nevertheless, Father will not have it, and I have been completely removed from my birthright._
> 
> _I do not believe that it will stick for long, as there is no other heir to the Malfoy name and Mother is unbelievably fond of my fiancé, not to mention that Father will see reason when it comes to the political standing Harry gives us even outside of our engagement, but in the immediate environment, it is rather daunting. Harry has, of course, offered his home and finances to support me until Father comes to his senses, but not only is that against my own morals regarding the courtship of marriage, I refuse to be a kept man (don’t you dare laugh, you misanthropic bastard). I am not entirely sure what I’m to do at this point, as most of my friends and acquaintances are newly married or doing tertiary studies, and I haven’t the money for board as I wasn’t even given the opportunity to gather even clothing and only had what was in my purse. I naturally went to Gringotts immediately to see if I could withdraw coin before the necessary bureaucratic nonsense was finalised, but Father was quite quick in making sure that was dealt with before I could even walk Diagon Alley in full. He may not have the soundest judgement in political affairs and his beliefs, but you cannot deny that he is very proficient in all things monetary, to my everlasting annoyance._
> 
> _I’m sure Mother will find a way to send me something while she’s working on bring Father to heel, but until them I am unsure what to do next. Have you any suggestions, other than sleeping on the streets (for I would rather sleep in the streets than move in with Harry before we’re married, regardless of how daft you must think me for clinging to those ‘outdated’ courtship rituals)? I am in a situation as to which I am completely unaccustomed to, and it is not as simple as when we were both at Hogwarts, when I could simply slip into your quarters for intelligent conversation and sleep when Slytherin House was too overwhelmingly toxic or dangerous to allow my guard to ease._
> 
> _The fear of no money is rather paralytic, Severus, and I cannot fathom how people can live without succumbing to depression or desperation. How do you manage it? Nevertheless, it is something that, once Father returns to his senses (or, better yet, passes the estate to myself in its entirety), I will have to lobby for. Universal basic income is something Hermione has been waxing rhapsodies about for half a decade, and only now do I understand her point of view. Terribly blindsided of me, but at least I can take this as a learning point to do better in the future, as well as the fact that I should’ve had the foresight to develop financial contingencies before this occurred in the first place. Now you can laugh._
> 
> _I hope it will not be but a few weeks before this all blows over, and hopefully sooner. If all else fails and I cannot find a bed, I suppose I can always hide away in the Shrieking Shack – my transfiguration ability would allow me to have a somewhat comfortable go of it until Mother finds a way to send me coin, and there is no longer a werewolf inhabiting the space once a month._ _  
> _
> 
> _Wishing you luck on the final stages of your research and hoping you are well,  
>  _ _Draco Malfoy_

Severus spends the first thirty minutes after reading bustling about for bits of meat from the ice box so he can feed the owl while letting his mind dissect the hidden meanings behind Draco’s missive. His first thought is that Draco is a fool for falling in love, but again, the news is unsurprising, though the mention of betrothal _is_. The news that Draco is happy and content enough with Potter to get _married_ – spurning his father’s wrath and upending every societal expectation within the Pure-blood community – is shocking to say the least, especially since Severus has always half-expected the two of them to finally get into a domestic that they couldn’t recover from. Pure-bloods take betrothals and marriages very seriously, and if Draco’s accepted Potter’s hand, then there is no turning back unless one of them dies. Pure-blood customs demand nothing else, and Draco is a proper Pure-blood despite his political leanings.

After he’s come to begrudging terms that Draco is marrying Harry-bleeding-Potter of all people, he begins going over the other hints within Draco’s letter, namely the request for lodging, or if nothing else, the funds to support him until Draco can pay him back.

It’s glaringly obvious that Draco’s asking, even if he hadn’t said so in blatant terms. The mentions of having no options with other lodging options nor the money for even a room at an inn is fairly clear to decipher, and then there’s the deliberate addition of it being for a short period of time (which is most likely accurate, once Lucius gets his head out of his arse and accepts reason) and the very specific remark about the Shrieking Shack, which is one of the only explicit locations that Severus consciously has nightmares about (as most of his nightmares revolve around people and events rather than the places said events took place). It’s that last bit that really hammers it home, as Draco most certainly knows that Severus despises that place, even if he might not know the reasoning as to why. Well, he likely does now that he’s dating Potter and is friends with the rest of his idiotic friends, as Gryffindors have no concept of privacy nor subtlety.

Gods, he hates Potter.

There isn’t a reason in hell he would allow Draco to live in that despicable place, even for a night, and it makes his skin crawl to even imagine the thought. Still, Severus hasn’t any money to send, as all of the proceeds to his patents go for the bare minimum of food and a surplus of potions ingredients before the remnants are sent in entirely to charities, so that’s not an option. Additionally, Severus can see where Draco’s coming from, in regards to other lodging – as with any post-war society, the vast majority of people rushed into marriage and are procreating at an alarming rate, and anyone not swept up in the urge to hurry into such things are in tertiary studies with a Master and therefore cannot live outside of student lodgings. Outside of that, as far as Severus is aware, the only adults who aren’t married or are in tertiary studies within Draco’s relative age group are people in Pure-bloods that are in betrothal contracts (which can’t be interfered with, and considering Draco’s still technically unmarried, he would be considered a problem) and the sparse few others available likely would not allow Draco to stay with them due to a lack of even passing acquaintance.

Gods, but he fucking _hates_ Potter.

If it hadn’t been for Potter’s relationship with Draco, Lucius almost certainly would’ve spent two hours in a rage, a night in a sulk, and then the next morning listing to Narcissa patiently explain why Draco’s liberal politics were good for the family. If Draco had gone through with the original option to enter a betrothal contract with Astoria Greengrass – which had been brought up shortly after the Malfoy name had been elevated into ‘hero’ status, according to Draco himself – Lucius might’ve not done anything but brood. His son marrying _Potter_ though, a hot-blooded man who had defeated the Dark Lord and (according to imbecilic lunatics like Lucius) was actively trying to destroy his superior way of life, was clearly the issue that had resulted in Draco’s expulsion from his inheritance and family seat, and Severus for the life of him can’t understand why Draco _or_ Narcissa hadn’t anticipated this outcome from before the platonic relationship alone had occurred.

After Severus’s lunch, which he’d taken if only to keep himself from blowing up a cauldron due to his own distraction (fucking _Potter_ ), he writes two letters with a fair amount of anxiety and wariness that he doesn’t bother hiding in the privacy of his own home. He’s steadfast in his decision, even though he is certain that he’ll regret it, but other than two to three visits a year from Minerva, Severus has not seen another living soul that is human. The anxiety is to be expected, after almost seven years of total isolation from the outside world, and the wariness is equally anticipated, considering Draco has changed from the boy he once was and Severus himself has grown accustomed to not wearing a mask.

Still, he wore that mask since the first time he remembers his father beating his mother, since the first time he watched Lily smile at the _other_ Potter Severus hates, and he can feel it slipping back into place seamlessly as he carefully begins to write his own missives.

The first is to Minerva:

> _Good day,_
> 
> _Without divulging too much private information, Draco is currently disowned from his birthright due to his relationship with Potter. He has no options at the moment, and I am offering my humble dwelling for him until Lucius sees reason. Naturally, as my Keeper, you will have to grant him permission to come onto the property, and due to the nature of Draco’s excommunication, time is of the essence. If you would be amendable, I would greatly appreciate if you could give him the Secret at your earliest convenience. I suppose it does not need to be said, but before revealing it, ensure that Draco’s Occlumency is solid and the nosy, bothersome portraits in your office do not interfere, even with the protections bound to a Headmistress. If you wish to verify any of this letter in person, please do not hesitate, but otherwise, send a Patronus if you are agreeable to the above. Also enclosed is the message to Draco – I am cognisant of the fact that you have the ability to deliver correspondence to Potter post-haste, and I would appreciate if you could deliver this to him, as Draco will almost certainly be with him or at least in a speedy proximity. In any case, I will be in my lab if and when you arrive with Draco._
> 
> _Also, if Potter is with him when Draco arrives to see you, or Draco gives you any indication that he is looking to share the Secret with Potter, feel free to curse both of them. I would suggest something to remove their genitalia so they do not procreate, and therefore leave this world free of any offspring they would unfortunately bring into this world._
> 
> _Respectfully,  
>  _ _SS_

The next is to Draco himself, and he doesn’t bother with pleasantries:

> _You are a dull, imbecilic dunderhead who was likely dropped on his head as an infant. Pull yourself together at once else I will refuse to entertain your increasingly ridiculous and soppy correspondence._
> 
> _Minerva McGonagall will see you when you are available, and I do not care if you are betrothed to that equally dull and imbecilic dunderhead: Potter stays out of this. Do not make me regret this decision or I will rectify your continued existence myself, Boy-Who-Lived and what little remains of my sentimentality be damned._

On Draco’s letter, he spells it to be opened and read by only Draco – he does not trust Potter, the nosy and unsubtle idiot, to keep his eyes to himself, and he does not trust the Ministry in which Potter works either. When he’s sufficiently satisfied with the letter’s protections, he rolls up the scrolls and attaches them to the leg of his personal owl, sending her to fly the short distance to Hogwarts.

Minerva’s cat appears in short order but instead of a coherent or long-winded response, it’s a solid twelve seconds of her cackling (which makes Severus hate her just a little bit) before her voice says from the Patronus, “Done and done, my friend. I’ll come over for tea tomorrow as well, just to make sure you haven’t murdered the poor boy in a fit of pique.”

Severus Summons the parchment, a quill, and a stoppered vial of ink, and writes down the first addition to his third _After_ goal: _ensure Draco remains alive and well until his affairs are in order_.

* * *

For the first week of Draco’s invasion of Severus’s isolation, everything goes smoothly.

He follows the basic rules – _do not bother me when I am working, clean up after yourself, no talk or sight of that blasted idiot you call a fiancé or the War in general_ – and Severus is lulled by the vague familiarity of it all. Draco had spent a significant amount of time in Severus’s quarters, both before and after Albus’s death, just to get away from the politics and backstabbing within Slytherin House. He had, of course, been comfortable in Slytherin, but Draco had been regrettably forced into being an adult far sooner than any child had the right to be, and being around classmates that were still essentially children had taken its toll on him. Severus can empathise, considering his home life and his days courting the Dark Lord from Sixth Year and after, and they had found an easy companionship with each other even despite Draco’s much-younger age during those days.

That being said, it is clear that Draco’s recent associations have ingrained themselves into his person.

Most of the changes are things Severus understands and even supports, namely his changed views regarding anyone not ‘pure of blood’ and fully human. He is proud of Draco’s maturation, and even if some of Potter and Granger’s idealism has obviously worked its way into Draco’s person, it is reassuring to see that Draco’s pragmatism is still in control of any grand and lofty goals Draco would like to see come to fruition. The bits that Severus does not understand – not much, honestly, and only because he is unsure of how the Muggle world works anymore within the new millennium – are subject to intellectual debate over the spare few meals they share, which is rather invigorating after so long of only getting into infrequent debates with Minerva.

Generally, Draco does not spend a lot of time at Severus’s dwelling, save for the first day when they had finally laid eyes on each other for the first time in half a decade, resulting in stilted small talk until they’d both remembered how to actually exist around each other. Draco’s still out lobbying on a constant basis at the Ministry or scheming with Parkinson and Granger, who’ve become quite the fierce duo if the _Prophet_ and Draco are to be believed. There are also the frequent visits to see Potter to account for, though Draco obligingly does not inform Severus of these outings – the only evidence of that is the fact that Draco returns to Severus’s dwelling with a smile he can’t wipe off his face and positively _reeking_ of sex or fresh shower potions, the transparent moron.

It’s an easy, amiable coexistence with a person, until suddenly it’s not.

It starts with the owl from Lucius stating in flat terms that Draco will never be reinstated as his heir until he breaks off relations with Potter, which is followed by another owl from Granger informing that Potter’s been getting death threats from an untraceable source, which is followed by yet another owl from Narcissa saying that Potter seems to be on the verge of storming Malfoy Manor without a warrant, which is followed by a final owl from Potter himself saying that he _is_ on the verge of storming Malfoy Manor without a warrant because he got poisoned from the first death threat and he’s damn well _sure_ that Lucius is responsible even if he can’t prove it.

Severus may hate Potter with an undying passion but even he can admit that Lucius is probably responsible, considering the timing of it all.

Draco’s hysterical for the second week and spends almost every night with Potter, and in the spare few moments he returns to Severus’s home, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. As he packs more clothing, he explains to Severus (who is trying to focus on his equations in the kitchen and not the familial drama) that he might have to move in with Potter after all, because he doesn’t trust Potter to be alone right now as Potter’s frothing at the mouth for retribution (predictable) and might end up opening another poisoned missive. Severus, as much as he thinks Potter is a hot-headed and impulsive brat, thinks that the latter is quite unlikely, because as rash as he is, Potter is certainly capable of both protecting himself and getting lucky enough to cheat death. Despite Potter’s many faults, it still is fact that he’s a fully-qualified Auror who’d definitively defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in history, and touching one poisoned letter isn’t indicative of a trend. After all, there are many poisons that are undetectable – some of them are of Severus’s own design even, and he’s fully aware that Malfoy Manor has stockpiles of various fatal potions that he’d brewed for the Dark Lord both before and after his first fall – that have been utilised throughout history to kill rivals. It is highly unlikely that Potter will make the same mistake twice, even at his most reckless.

Of course, Draco is a drama queen and refuses to accept this, loudly voicing the worst-case scenarios of Potter’s seemingly inevitable demise whilst making an enormous racket about the impropriety of being forced to move in with his betrothed, and by the time Severus is cursing the fact that he hasn’t any Calming Draughts brewed to force down Draco’s throat, he’s utterly done with the histrionics.

He’s not entirely sure if he offers his dwelling’s protection to Potter for Draco’s peace of mind or because he just wants Draco to _shut up_.

Draco calms down at the offer though, considering it with complete focus and blissfully quiet for the first time in an hour, and when he asks if Severus is serious, Severus hesitates for a split second because _why in the hell had he offered it in the first place?_ Still, Severus is a proud man and he’s already made said offer, albeit in the heat of the moment, and he’d put Draco’s happiness and well-being on his parchment, something that he will see through to the bitter end. Besides, it’s not like anything will come of it – the entire history between Severus and Potter is filled with blood, anger, and hatred. There isn’t a chance in hell that Potter will take Severus up on it, especially considering that the last time they were breathing the same air, years upon years ago in a private hospital room at St Mungos, Potter had told him that it would be ‘ _a cold day in hell when I voluntarily put myself in the same room as you, you cold and miserable fuck_.’

So he says that he’s indeed serious through clenched teeth, though there will be _rules_ , and it’s almost worth it when Draco smiles.

* * *

The problem is that Potter takes him up on it, and _fuck_ but he hates Potter.

* * *

The rules are simple, laid in unnegotiable terms in a tense silence inside Severus’s shabby sitting room.

The first two are ones that Draco is already obliging – _do not bother me when I am working_ and _clean up after yourself_ – but the rest are Potter specific: he’s forbidden from wasting time lounging around Severus’s public rooms (because too much Potter in Severus’s presence will certainly result in bloodshed); no word on where Potter is hiding out to his gossipy friends (Severus is tempted to require an Unbreakable Vow, but Minerva shoots this down rather vehemently when she comes over to make sure he’s _actually_ going to allow Potter into his home); if Potter is in the dwelling, Draco _must_ be present as well (because Severus being left _alone_ with Potter will result in not bloodshed but cold-blooded murder); Potter must provide his own food and supplies (because Severus sure as hell isn’t going to support the pint-sized brat); no sodding funny business in Severus’s home (because if they want to paw all over each other, Potter has a perfectly good home of his own for that vulgarity); and a maximum time limit of one month before he is required to leave (Severus desperately hopes that Potter and Draco solve the problem much faster, and judging by the expression on Potter’s face, this is a mutual hope).

It’s uncomfortable to be sure, but Potter is silent except for the occasional quiet _yes sir_ when appropriate, and it does admittedly help with that discomfort. As soon as the conversation is over, Severus flees to his potions lab and Draco hurries Potter into his bedroom to settle down as apparently Potter had needed his own for propriety’s sake, and Severus will never understand the ridiculous customs of Pure-bloods because how in the hell is it any different than Draco sleeping in a separate bedroom in Potter’s London flat?

Sometimes, Severus hates Draco almost as much as Potter himself, because it isn’t even a week before everything falls into insanity.

* * *

Severus is in his lab, finalising his notes for the first human experiment, when everything goes pear-shaped.

The first subject is Malcolm McClellan, a thirty-two-year-old male who’d been mauled by Greyback when he was seven, courtesy of his Pure-blooded parents denying the Dark Lord early during the first war. Severus has met him many times, of course, both when he was still a child and later when he’d been a Snatcher, and he’d been a violent, hateful thing with a remarkable talent for killing his subsequent victims rather than changing them. That being said, Severus is uncertain if he’s comfortable with McClellan being the first human subject considering the situation – he’d been so young when he’d been turned, and due to his high parentage, it hadn’t been a secret whatsoever, which meant that Albus hadn’t been able to grant McClellan his slot at Hogwarts like he’d been able to give to Remus Lupin (and likely other closeted werewolves over the years). Because of the denial of his schooling and the general fear regarding werewolves, not to mention the fact that the Wolfsbane hadn’t been invented yet, his parents had both despised him _and_ been furious with the government for allowing it to happen while simultaneously doing nothing about it immediately after, leading to the complete radicalisation of the entire family. The boy had grown up with Greyback and the Dark Lord during his most impressionable years, as his parents had wanted nothing to do with him, and therefore had developed a taste for rage-fuelled brutality towards anyone and everyone who’d crossed his path.

Severus is terrified of werewolves for many reasons other than Black’s ‘prank’, but he still has some empathy for McClellan nevertheless. Like almost all werewolves, he hadn’t had a choice and furthermore had only been a child, and the Wizarding World had ostracised him to the point where he hadn’t been able to get an education, let alone assimilate himself into proper society where he could’ve had a decent life. Instead, he’d been turned away by his own family as well as the entire population, and it had made him lonely and afraid and angry, leading to his fall into the Dark Lord’s orbit because he hadn’t any other options without debasing himself. Severus can obviously sympathise with that – his own experiences within his childhood home and the relentless cruelty from other Houses (and honestly in Slytherin itself) during his Hogwarts years had widened that gaping hole of ambitious hatred in himself, leading him to the Dark Lord as well.

Still, actions do make the man, he supposes, and besides, if the Dementors hadn’t been unilaterally removed from Azkaban during the first six months of _After_ , McClellan would’ve been Kissed anyway. If the experiment kills him – which is certainly a possibility, though Severus would anticipate the complete elimination of his magical core before he’d expect death – then it’s not too much of a problem, according to the legal branch of the ICW in charge of signing off on human experimentation. McClellan had ultimately been given a full trial by the Wizengamot and been found guilty of almost every one of his crimes (rightfully so, in Severus’s opinion, as he’d been present during some of his murders). The only reason he hadn’t been executed was because the EU Wizengamot is firmly anti-death penalty, just like the Muggle one is, and the Dementor’s Kiss has never been considered as such, just a more extreme type of lifetime incarceration for the most dangerous of criminals.

Severus has always personally believed that was rubbish, but he’s not a politician and hasn’t ever voted in the Wizarding elections, so he’s of the opinion that he’s negated his freedom to complain about that particular moral argument, not that it matters anymore with the Dementors’ removal.

In any case, his formula is sound, and he’s confident that it will, at the very least, negate the need for Wolfsbane, if it doesn’t completely remove the lycanthropy infection from the magical core. Or if it doesn’t remove the entirety of the magical core itself. It’s certainly a delicate balance, as lycanthropy infests the core on a genetic level and is tied to magic itself, and trying to destroy the infection could hypothetically result in the destruction of the magical apparatus within the human body. Of course, that’s the point of human trials on individuals who lost their rights to perform magic regardless – it’s not like they can experiment on animals first, since lycanthropy is a purely Wizarding disease contrary to Muggle belief, and it is unacceptable to do human trials on witches and wizards who would be, at the very least, completely unable to do magic if their core was destroyed, or at worst, actually die from the elimination of a crucial part of their biology. The only other cases of a core being destroyed – usually through illegal curses or potions – has occasionally resulted in the death of the Magical individual, after all, and they cannot afford to perform these much-needed experiments on individuals who’ve done nothing wrong legally even _if_ they volunteered for it in a fit of desperation. No, it is much too dangerous, politically and otherwise, to do such a thing, and so life-sentence prisoners infected with lycanthropy it is.

He’s finishing up the letter to Lincoln Heaversham, the lead Healer who’ll be supervising the administration at Azkaban, when his magic responds to the wards, letting him know that someone has Apparated on his property. He huffs out a sound of irritation, hoping that the two idiots will keep it down considering the late hour, and then continues methodically until he hears a loud crash and a blistering explosion of vulgarity, which results in Severus upending his inkwell onto the nearly-finished missive and letting out his own incensed swears as he sweeps his way up the narrow staircase to rip both of them to shreds.

Not that he has the opportunity, because he stops dead at the entryway of his lab, taking in the tangled bodies and the blood smeared on the white floor of his kitchen from what appears to be Potter, who’s liberally coated with red.

Draco looks as if he’s having a coronary as he shrieks with an edge of hysteria, hands shaking and face blotched with pink, “What is _wrong_ with you?! Are you out of your ever-loving _mind_?! You should be at hospital, you fucking _moron_!”

“Stop yelling,” Potter groans, trying to push himself up from the floor and failing miserably even despite Draco trying to help him get to his feet. Severus can’t tell immediately what the problem is, but it’s obvious that Potter’s hurt, his brown skin ashen and green eyes glazed with pain. “You’re going to bother Snape and he’s going to give us a right good bollocksing for mucking up rule one.”

“Too late for that,” Severus drawls, his voice carefully modulated to hide any of the thoughts and emotions currently swirling in his head. He’s not sure what’s the most confusing: the fact that Potter of all people is scolding Draco to respect the rules, that Potter’s not rising up to Draco’s hysterical barbs with anger, or that _Severus_ feels concerned by the frankly alarming amount of blood on the idiot.

“Severus! Do something!” Draco cries at the same time Potter mumbles under his breath, “Well shit.”

That’s more familiar, and Severus almost wants to smile.

“I haven’t an idea what you expect me to do when I am unsure as to what happened in the first place,” Severus says calmly, advancing with a raised wand. He flicks it methodically over his sitting room and kitchen, setting rights to his chairs and cleaning the blood on his floors, and then crosses his arms when he reaches the two imbeciles still on his floor, looming over them. “What in the devil happened, Potter?”

Draco opens his mouth to speak but swallows his words when Severus glares at him; Severus doesn’t care to listen to Draco’s dramatic histrionics, and while he doesn’t necessarily expect Potter to tell him the whole truth, he’s likely to get a better idea of what happened without adding onto the terrible headache he can feel starting in his temples.

Potter’s face twists through various emotions before he shifts, grimaces, and then manages to sit himself upright, fingers tentatively touching the back of his head. Clearly a head wound then, judging by the cringe, and Severus lets his eyes take in the rest of his hunched form for further injuries as Potter explains flatly, “Raid. I’ll be fine with some rest.”

Draco looks apoplectic, teeth visibly grinding and eyes bright with panicked rage, but Severus ignores him. “Have you been to medical?” he asks, though he’s already sure of the answer, and Potter doesn’t disappoint.

“No,” he mutters mulishly. “Got looked over by an on-sight medic but she suggested St Mungos, and if I go there, I’ll be stuck in a bed for ages because everyone seems to lose their ability to do their jobs when I walk into a room. Contrary to what you might believe about me, I’d much rather sleep instead of getting prodded by Healers desperate for a photograph as they wax the usual spiel about thanks and gratitude and all that rubbish.”

Severus eyes him for a long moment, Potter glaring defiantly at him while Draco seethes, and then Severus says blandly, “Well, it seems like the Healers are just as imbecilic as you are.” Potter flushes, a rather distasteful combination with the pallor of his cheeks, but Severus doesn’t wait for the inevitable parry, instead levitating Potter entirely until he’s laid out on the couch. He flicks his wand in well-practised movements, wandlessly doing diagnostic charms that are practically instinctive after years of teaching students, and then says once he’s done, “Well, luckily for Draco and your numerous fans, you’re not dying. Pity, that. Stay put, else I’ll hit you with a full-body bind and Stupefy, which would be unrecommended due to the concussion and head wound. Do get him out of his robes before I return with topicals, Draco, and for Circe’s sake, don’t perform any magic on the idiot as it may interfere with my potions.”

He turns on his heel and makes his way to his lab, where he has the usual potions in case of injuries. He’s torn between irritable that Potter’s such a haphazard idiot who denied himself medical care just because he didn’t want to cater to mindless kow-towing and...oddly sympathetic, to his eternal annoyance. Still, Severus remembers waking up in St Mungos himself, in the bizarre and alien world of _After_ , and he’d been ready to hex the lot of them himself because of the ridiculous fawning. Merlin knows it is likely worse for Potter, even six years after the War. It’s decidedly strange to be in a position where he can _empathise_ with Potter of all people but it’s no less true, and in a way, he doesn’t necessarily blame Potter for trying to escape the histrionics. He’s always been bull-headed and stubborn, and Severus can certainly understand why he’d want to suffer in silence while taking care of himself the Muggle way rather than put up with it all.

Furthermore, Severus _also_ remembers that St Mungos has truly atrocious brewers employed, and Severus’s stores are much more effective for the standard injuries. He’ll have to brew some Skele-Gro for the shattered bones in his right arm and shoulder, but that’s only an afternoon if he uses the standard method (which tastes vile and has to be paired with tissue regenerators and pain relievers because it tends to scorch the oesophagus and stomach lining going down) or an afternoon and late evening if he uses his own improved method (vastly superior, obviously, and tastes like grass). He’s done with the first test batch of the lycanthropy cure, and until he receives the results from Heaversham, he’s essentially sitting on his hands except theoretical, ultimately irrelevant improvements on paper.

Besides, he’d made an oath to Lily and Albus to keep the boy – _man_ – safe until his last dying breath, not to mention that it would destroy Draco if Potter died from something as stupid as intracranial bleeding.

He gathers up a large assortment of potions within his expanding case, nearly depleting some of his stock, and then makes his way back up with a monumental effort to keep himself physically impassive. It wouldn’t do to show something akin to sympathy or concern, not because he has an image to maintain anymore but because he truly still does despise the idiot, and he pauses before leaving the stairs so he can look in the mirror across the corridor, taking in his ageing appearance with a critical eye. He’s not quite out of practise after years upon years of not being forced to put on a role, as his act had been such an integral part of his entire soul for most of his life and therefore is like putting on a well-worn and comfortable robe. However, he _has_ admittedly grown somewhat relaxed since he hasn’t needed to make an effort to react ‘appropriately’ when there’s an audience, and he can’t risk Potter seeing any sort of compassion or empathy. The last thing he needs is Potter growing comfortable here and starting to bend the rules in response, as he’s wont to do when he isn’t being watched for any misstep (and Severus has been _watching_ ).

Satisfied that he gives the appearance of mild irritation underneath smooth emotionless, he steps into the corridor and then out into the sitting room. Draco’s seemingly expanded the couch length-wise, but Severus can’t sense any other residue of magic use; he’s fairly good about detecting it, especially within his own wards, and he’s vaguely relieved that Draco hasn’t taken complete leave of his senses, other than his current betrothal to Potter.

“You are not to make this a habit, Potter,” Severus drones irritably as he begins pulling out potions from his case, handing them to Draco one-by-one slowly so he can unstopper them and hand them to Potter for ingestion. “If you cannot deal with your adoring public with any sense of propriety, then take appropriate measures. You’ve enough money to hire a private Mediwizard for your personal use if signing autographs is too tedious for your delicate sensibilities, and I for one will not tolerate you causing undue grief and hysteria in Draco, nor will I be your fucking nursemaid.”

Potter snorts loudly, then groans in pain when it jostles his shoulder and arm. Severus scoffs in annoyance and snaps, “Act like an adult, you insufferable brat. Four more potions to go, and then I will set your arm and shoulder. I expect to be reimbursed for the exuberant amount of potions you’re forcing me to give you, as well as my time for brewing a Skele-Gro, which I may remind you is actually illegal considering it’s under closed patent.”

Potter reaches for another potion, downs it in one go, and then says with heavy sarcasm, “What d’you want, my firstborn?”

Severus rolls his eyes and hands over the last potion – a pain reliever, which he’d saved for last in a fit of undeniably childish pettiness – to Draco. With his own sarcastic bite, he drawls, “If this world is so lucky, you will never sire any little Potters to demonise this world. I do hope you’re sterile for the sake of us all.”

“ _Severus_ ,” Draco says imploringly, and then looks back at Potter incredulously, who’d huffed a visibly careful laugh before downing the last potion.

“What?” Potter says around a sigh, relaxing into the worn, but comfortable couch as the pain reliever kicks in. Severus rolls his eyes again and does a few diagnostic spells as Potter continues, “I thought it was funny.”

“There is nothing amusing about the idea of you procreating,” Severus mutters while he flicks his wand at Potter’s shoulder, setting it into a localised binding to keep the idiot from moving it accidentally and then immediately following with another to his arm and wrist.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, if we have any kids, they’re going to be biologically Draco’s,” Potter says, grimacing as his arm and shoulder is stiffened into proper placement.

“You have no idea how comforting that is,” Severus drolls.

* * *

He ends up taking the standard route with the Skele-Gro, if only for Draco’s peace of mind.

By that point, Potter’s healed up enough to move into his bedroom, and Severus thrusts the vial into Draco’s hands without entering said room with strict instructions to make Potter drink all of it. He discreetly hovers outside in the living corridors, listening to Potter choke down the potion just to be sure he doesn’t sick it up, and then disappears into his lab to redo his letter to Heaversham and send it with the lycanthropy potions to Minerva. He loses himself in brewing replacements for all of the potions Potter had taken, and works through the night on a few additional recipes as well, mostly potions for tendons, muscles, and ligaments. Merlin only knows the amount of damage Potter’s done to the surrounding tissues of his shoulder and arm after fleeing a crime scene, and Draco will be pleased at least (and Lily, wherever she is). It’s something to do, in any case, if only to keep his mind off the lycanthropy trials that will be taking place in a week and the fact that once it’s successful, he’ll be able to finally die without guilt.

Almost there, he supposes, and his chest feels lighter at the thought.

He surfaces at about seven in the morning, exhausted and sore from stirring repetitions, with an odd ache in his stomach that is probably from the lack of food. He hasn’t an appetite though – he’s never had much of an appetite, not even since his Hogwarts days – so he settles for a pot of tea, setting it up with methodical patience even if he’s sure he’d do better with sleep instead.

He’s glad for his choice when he’s halfway through his first cup, the newly-arrived _Prophet_ open to the Potioneers’ section in his other hand, for Draco comes through in fine robes, hair slicked and a briefcase in his hand.

“No,” Severus says instantly.

Draco sighs and takes a seat, posture impeccably straight and looking apologetic, as well as equally exhausted. The smudges under his eyes are a clear picture of a night spent worrying over Potter, as Skele-Gro is quite painful to endure. He gestures to the pot of tea, pouring himself a cup once Severus stiffly nods, and says tiredly, “I haven’t a choice. The Auror Department needs to be updated on Harry’s condition before they send out an armada and I need to make sure MW Olivier brings this bill to motion today rather than tomorrow.”

“Send an owl. Or a Howler.”

“You know I can’t do that. In any case, rest assured that you won’t be bothered – Harry’s liable to sleep until noon considering the night he had, and he knows the rules.” He swallows down the entirety of his tea in one long series of swallows then flicks his wand at the teacup to clean it and send it flying towards its proper cupboard, standing up with another sigh. “I’ll be back in a few hours, no longer. Please don’t asphyxiate or otherwise maim my fiancé, Severus.”

He sweeps out of the home without another word, a distant pop of Apparition mixing with the internal awareness of Severus’s wards letting him leave, and Severus rubs his temples with stained fingertips in irritation.

He finishes his tea and pours another, ears straining for any sounds of movement just in case he needs to flee at a moment’s notice. He’s almost tempted to flee regardless, but he won’t be spooked within his own home whilst the brat isn’t even in the same room – that would be rather pathetic, and Severus is too proud to be such. Besides, Draco’s probably right – Severus bedroom and lab are both additionally warded, with supplemental _Muffaito_ charms entwined for his own sanity, but even though he hadn’t been able to hear anything, he’s fully aware how painful it is when Skele-Gro works, especially since the standard recipe patented by Reubens Wilkius’ estate negates all sleep potions and minimises the effectiveness of pain relievers.

Severus should’ve just brewed his improved recipe, honestly. If he had, he could’ve added a vial of Dreamless Sleep to the exorbitant amount of potions Potter had been dosed with and wouldn’t have to worry about Potter surfacing until later this evening.

Hindsight, indeed.

He half-heartedly finishes reading the _Prophet_ – the drivel they report has only gotten worse in _After_ , somewhat surprisingly considering the political climate, and he can’t help but be concerned with the right-leaning slant to its articles, hidden inside gossip pieces and seemingly innocent human interest editorials – and steadily works his way through the rest of his teapot. He hasn’t the energy to do much but sit there in silence, tense for any movement in the house other than his own, but the lull of his bed isn’t strong enough to entice him to move. He doesn’t trust himself to brew further or look over his lycanthropy notes, either, as his exhaustion is bone-deep, and he hasn’t any work in his herb garden that needs to be done.

So he simply lets his mind wander to different poisons and spells he can use to take his own life, his preferred way of relaxing. Perhaps it’s not the most standard means comforting himself, fantasising about the most brutal and painful ways to extinguish his existence from this world, but Severus is so _tired_ , of living with his guilt and being alive when so many better people weren’t allowed to, and he just wants to _rest_ , even if a part of him wonders if his continued existence is penance for his evil. Severus is not a religious man, but he wonders if there is a hell after this life that he’ll be subjected to like some Muggles believe, and he can’t help but hope so, because an eternity of suffering is all he deserves after the horror he’s enabled.

There’s something very comforting about that possibility, and he can’t ignore that there’s something even more calming about the idea of Lily being allowed to exist in a peaceful afterlife, surrounded by her loved ones and a beautiful utopia of harmony. It’s a lovely thought, of her laughing whilst surrounded by fields of lush grass, her red hair glowing in the bright sunshine, in the arms of her pseudo-family, and he almost smiles. He’s only ever wanted her to be happy, even if he personally hadn’t approved of her husband, but that hadn’t been his choice and he’d never deluded himself into believing that it was – Severus may be proud, but James Potter had been much better for her anyway, as much as he hates to admit it, because they would’ve had a beautiful life together if Severus hadn’t been born for the sole purpose of destroying it. He hates himself most of all, because he’s the reason they’re dead, the reason they hadn’t been around to watch their child grow, the reason that so many lives had been extinguished before they’d had the chance to _be_. He desperately hopes there is something after this world, if only so she can watch her son grow old whilst being surrounded by love.

He supposes he’s not surprised when Potter does surface, silent as a ghost from his stealth training and years of fighting the Dark Lord, but he is surprised when Potter stills in the kitchen doorway, looking at him for a long moment with a strangely unreadable expression before he asks quietly, “Can I join you?”

Severus stares back, at those bright green eyes that haunt him with every moment of his continued existence, and hears himself murmur, “Do whatever you will.”

Potter shuffles around, almost eerily silent even as he brews his own pot of tea from his own stores. Severus tries not to watch him, staring into the dregs of his cuppa whilst trying to shake off the memories of Potter’s mother and his own self-hatred, but it’s hard not to – he’s only seen Potter a sparse few times since that first sit-down regarding rules, and this is the first time Severus has seen him without his full Auror robes on, making him look younger and far less guarded. Like he’d noticed the previous evening, he’s still rather short for his age – especially in comparison to his biological father, Lucifer torture his soul – but the skinny child has been replaced by a man with broad shoulders and strong musculature, a vast difference from his school-days. He certainly looks healthier despite his current stiffness, more settled in his skin in a way, and it’s a far cry from that last meeting they’d had in St Mungos, when Potter had been almost deathly thin and gaunt with a haunted shadow in his eyes.

 _After_ has been good for him, in a way that it hasn’t been for Severus himself. Then again, Severus has been holed up and completely cut off from the outside world except Minerva’s irregular visits for tea, and has been slowly preparing to die, so he’s not particularly surprised by that fact.

Potter finally sits at the farthest end of the table from Severus, pouring a cup of tea and sipping at it silently, eyes on the rough surface of the table. It’s too quiet and charged, and Severus knows that there’s something being held back, something on the tip of Potter’s tongue that’s audible even through the silence, and finally Severus sighs, almost too exhausted to be irritable. He’s not at all ready for this conversation – a conversation that they’d tried to have nearly seven years ago in St Mungos, which hadn’t gone well by any stretch of the imagination – but it’s probably the perfect time to get it out of the way, with Draco in London and both of them too fatigued to let their tempers get away from them.

Probably.

With a heavy frown, Severus says tiredly as he pours himself a cup of tea from the last of his pot, “We’re only having this conversation once, so use your time wisely – the second Draco walks through that door, it’s finished.” Potter huffs with what sounds like amusement, which is vaguely frustrating, but he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself from getting riled up. As soon as Potter says his piece, he’s gone.

Potter’s quiet for a long moment, thumbs brushing along the lip of his chipped mug, and then he says, “About a year after the War ended, right after I started officially dating Draco rather than simply falling into bed with him, I remember sitting in Grimmauld Place, wondering what it would’ve been like if I’d been Sorted into your House.”

That’s...not what Severus had been expecting in the slightest, and he looks up from his own cup so he can eye Potter, trying to figure out what point is being made here.

Potter continues quietly, a small and almost sardonic quirk to his lips, “I almost was, in case you didn’t see that during those disastrous Occlumency lessons. The Hat told me I’d do well in both, and I was damn near a hatstall when I argued for Gryffindor. The only thing I’d heard about the Houses was that there wasn’t anyone in Slytherin who wasn’t bad, and I’d been told my entire life that I was bad, that there was something fundamentally _wrong_ with me. I was terrified and overwhelmed and _so_ young, and all I wanted was to not be bad anymore, to be accepted for the first time in my life. It didn’t help that the first magical person I really butted heads with was Draco, who insulted the first person who hadn’t treated me like a leper for the simple crime of being poor and acted like he was superior because of his name, and the Hat didn’t even touch his head before it was yelling Slytherin. If anything, it just reinforced that I didn’t want anything to do with your House, and we all know how _that_ turned out.”

Potter sighs, takes a sip of his tea, and then abandons it entirely, putting it on the table and leaning back, finally looking up to catch Severus’s gaze as he wraps his arms around his chest, like he’s trying to protect himself. “It’s funny, isn’t it? An eleven-year-old child being Sorted and being ostracised for it, from the other three Houses to the damn staff themselves. Trust me, I’m fully aware of how it works with age and hindsight on my side, Snape, because I’m not nearly naïve as people like to think I am.”

Severus hasn’t an idea what to say to that, especially as he’s unsure what Potter’s trying to get at. He has the fleeting thought to attempt Legilimency but there isn’t a point to that, as Potter goes on, “But I was sitting in Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the remnants of blood supremacy and still in shock because of the War, reeling from all of the laws and motions that were being brought up in government because we defeated Vol—sorry, You-Know-Who, that Pure-blooded families were starting to assimilate within the modern fold _because_ of the fact that we won, and all I could think about was that almost all of the Pure-bloods from conservative families never even had a fucking _chance_ , especially if they’d Sorted green. They’d been indoctrinated into Pure-blood dogma from infancy by their indoctrinated parents, who’d been indoctrinated by _their_ indoctrinated parents, and none of them had ever been given the chance to assimilate because the entire world was against them, ostracising them and belittling them and not giving these _children_ a chance to form their own opinions about what was right. Slytherin in particular was completely cut off from any sort of modern thought because of the direct actions of students and staff, never able to forge friendships and relationships with anyone from other Houses because of the sheer _prejudice_ , prejudice that I myself participated in rather violently, as I’m sure you recall.

“So I sat there, in that dank and dark townhouse in Islington a year after the War, and it just really hit me that I was dating a Slytherin, the very Slytherin that made me beg the Hat to Sort me red in the first place, and that half of my friends were Slytherins even by that point, including Pansy, a Slytherin who actively tried to convince the rest of Hogwarts to hand me over. It hit me that all of them were people I cared for, people I _loved_ , and that every single one of them was conservative in some ways but open in _all_ ways, willing to explore and learn and change their minds once they were exposed to the clear and irrefutable fact that Muggle-borns weren’t evil, and reform wasn’t against their interests, and that the world is a lot bigger than pleasing parents who don’t and never _had_ their best interests at heart. Not just that, but _we_ learned something from them too – that there is pride in tradition, that blindly assuming someone’s worth based of a talking hat at _eleven-years-old_ is idiotic, that human beings are multifaceted and complex, that compromise is imperative to freedom, and that we as non-Slytherins don’t have the monopoly on being the good guys.”

Potter laughs, a humourless bark of sound, and then says slowly, “And all I could think of was me, and what would’ve happened if I’d been Sorted green like the Hat wanted me to, because we both know how _that_ would’ve gone. Sure, I was the Boy-Who-Lived, but Slytherin was _bad_ , and it wouldn’t have mattered if I was the Chosen One, even more so when it came out that I was a Parselmouth – my Fourth and Fifth Years are definitive proof of that alone. Chosen One or not, Dumbledore’s favourite or not, I would’ve been locked inside of a bubble that I never would’ve been able to get out of, and the only people who would’ve accepted me were other children inside of that same prejudiced bubble. I never would’ve gotten to know Hermione or other Muggle-borns, never would’ve been given the opportunity to learn that all magic is equal no matter who the hell has the wand, never would’ve been able to be exposed to a different point of view because the rest of the world would never have _allowed_ me to. Slytherin Pure-blood dogma would’ve been indoctrinated into me just like it did all of those children in Slytherin, because I had been so desperate for companionship and _love_ , especially since the only Muggles I really knew had emotionally, mentally, and physically abused me from the day Albus Dumbledore placed me on their fucking doorstep.”

Severus has the sudden recollection of Potter’s Occlumency lessons, of Petunia yelling and a small, too-skinny child trying to escape a rabid dog, of Potter sitting in the dark as laughter drifted from outside a small doorway, and something familiar aches in Severus’s chest. He has to break eye contact for a moment, glancing at his untouched, cooling tea to gather his bearings, but he forces himself to look back up, at the hard surety in Potter’s eerily familiar eyes.

“I think that’s a large reason as to why we nark each other off so much,” Potter says, a twisted mimicry of a grin on his face even though his tone is flat and emotionless. “Yeah, there’s a lot of guilt on your side, I’m sure, and you’re a certified bastard whereas I’m a stubborn fool, I’ll fully admit to that. But at the end of the day, we’re very similar, you know. I so _easily_ could’ve been just like you, and the only sodding difference between us is that I was Sorted Gryffindor and you were Sorted Slytherin. I was given a chance, and you weren’t afforded that same opportunity because of pointless prejudice and cruelty.”

Potter reaches for his tea, taking a long swallow, and then he admits so quietly that Severus has to strain to hear him, “I’ve never told anyone this, not even Ron and Hermione, but I used to fantasise about killing Vernon. Hell, I _still_ fantasise about killing him sometimes, when I’m really low. I’ve made some peace with Dudley, and in other ways Petunia, but Vernon is a different matter entirely. There’s only so much belittling and starvation and beatings a kid can take before he snaps, and in Slytherin, in the political climate that Hogwarts was in during those pre-War days? I wanted love and acceptance and camaraderie, which I would’ve gotten because snakes stick together against the collective prejudice of _literally_ _everyone else_ , and I also wanted Vernon dead, which would’ve been lauded in that same House because he’s a Muggle. It would’ve been easier than breathing to accept the dogma, and I wonder sometimes if I would’ve even accepted _him_ , even despite him murdering my parents, when everyone I cared about and loved _also_ accepted him. God knows that there’s enough anger in me, enough _hate_ , and I am self-aware enough to know that I would’ve been so _easy_ to manipulate. Dumbledore’s almost effortless manipulation of me is proof enough of that. I would’ve walked _straight_ into his arms, Snape, I know I would’ve.”

“I never would’ve allowed that to happen,” Severus hears himself say, throat tight. His mouth is dry as bone, but his stomach is so twisted that he’s afraid that even a sip of tea would cause it to revolt, bringing up nothing but bile. He very suddenly wants this conversation to stop, wants to _not hear what comes next_ , but he can’t get himself to rise up and flee, to escape this torment that’s sure to break him even more than he already is.

A ghost of a smile pops up on Potter’s mouth. “Maybe,” Potter says. “Maybe you would’ve taken me in like all your snakes if I’d been Sorted green. Maybe being a Slytherin would’ve forced you to look at me like my own unique, irritating person rather than a carbon copy of a man I don’t even remember. Maybe I would’ve been so indoctrinated that there would’ve been nothing you could say or do that could’ve made me turn my back on dogma, or maybe I would’ve been exactly the same person I was in Gryffindor and would’ve introduced that alternative point of view to the Slytherins a full decade earlier, resulting in an inter-House uprising. Who knows, maybe I would’ve died my first year for fuck’s sake. There’s no way to know and ultimately it doesn’t matter, because I’m here, and you’re there, and everything keeps on spinning like the world’s biggest cosmic joke. All we can do is work with what we’ve been given, and try not to make the same mistakes our parents made before us, and I think we’re doing that, y’know? I think we’re actually succeeding in making a difference for the better, bridging gaps and compromising where it truly matters, because yeah, maybe some people like You-Know-Who are born the way they are, but the vast majority of our demons are _made_ , and it’s crucial that we don’t forget that.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, a stretch of weighty stillness that seems to be never-ending, and then Potter sighs, looking down at his empty cup with half-lidded eyes. “I don’t hate you, you know. I did once, undoubtedly, but then again, I’ve never really known you. I don’t think anyone really has, maybe not even yourself. Now, I obviously don’t agree with a lot of the things you did or said during my school years, or some of the choices you’ve made, but I get it. I really, really do. You had a role to play, and you played it perfectly, even if it damn near killed you to do it. You may not believe me, but you more than anyone decided the outcome of this war, and that is a debt that I, nor anyone else, will never be able to repay. My—” He trails off, swallows thickly judging by the strain on his throat, and then continues with a very soft, earnest finality, “My mother would be _so_ proud of you, Severus Snape, and don’t you ever doubt that.”

A flare of bright, overwhelming pain sears through his chest like fire, and Severus bites down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood, eyes tightly shut as he tries desperately to control himself (and control what, he doesn’t even know). He distantly hears Potter get out of his chair and start to clean up, even Severus’s mess, the mug flying out of his nerveless fingers, and then there’s a murmur of something that he can’t understand through the deafening pound of his heart in his ears before there’s nothing but silence.

He doesn’t – _can’t_ – move until he hears Draco pop into the front garden, and he flees into his bedroom blindly so Draco can’t see his face.

* * *

And suddenly everything changes, which results in amusing, strange, _and_ disastrous situations.

Mostly it’s because the rules go to rot, slowly but surely, and admittedly Severus himself is just as responsible for that as Potter is. Of course, they avoid each other for the three days Potter’s on sick leave, ensured by Draco from Potter’s bosses, but then everything goes back into the previous routine with some minute changes that grow into general insanity.

Severus is starting to think that Potter’s never going to leave at this point, even though it’s only been a near month, and he finds it strange that it’s only a mildly irritating thought.

* * *

For starters, Severus likes to cook.

He’s a fucking Potions Master, and of course that translates to cooking. Despite the many years at Hogwarts, where all of his meals had been supplied by the elves, he’s still a product of poor, Muggle upbringing and had helped his mother in the kitchen despite the gender roles of his decade not requiring him to do so. Furthermore, he’d not resided in the castle during the off-season within his adult years, and his paltry pay packet for teaching and the sparse few patents he’d managed to get hadn’t resulted in liberal amounts of coin, which meant that takeout hadn’t been a financially sound decision to make when he’d had to acquire his own potions ingredients and books, not to mention the dosh he’d been required to fork over to the Muggle government so he could maintain his drab childhood home. There’s something comforting about brewing and cooking both, considering they run along the same vein, and he’s always found some modicum of peace when he’s experimenting in either avenue.

Ultimately, it’s not a hardship to go back into the kitchen to feed both himself and his persistent houseguests – not only is it an interesting challenge to triple his usual recipes and create more staples that abide by allergy restrictions, but he’s honestly getting tired of the quick, unimaginative meals he’s been preparing for himself since Draco and his fiancé invaded his home. He hadn’t wanted to spend too much time in common areas, after all, especially if they all decided they were hungry at the same time and ended up fighting for space, so he’s been eating hasty, fast meals that hadn’t been very nutritious or fulfilling.

There’s also the fact that cooking for other people at set times ensures that Severus himself doesn’t forget to eat for days at a time, and he needs to keep up his strength for the next round of lycanthropy trials (as the first round does indeed strip McClellan of his infliction _and_ magical core, though it surprisingly doesn’t kill him entirely).

He doesn’t invite Draco and Potter to dinner, exactly, but he doesn’t dissuade them of it either. It starts with him cooking more than his usual and leaving it on the table, flicking his wands at their doors before he flees with his portion to his lab or bedroom. Then he eats in the kitchen – usually standing – before he flicks his wand at their doors and flees to his lab or bedroom. Then they both start tentatively wandering out once they begin smelling food, and Severus ends up fleeing with his portion to his lab or bedroom while the paramours eat at the dining table. Then he stays at the shabby breakfast table in the kitchen proper while they eat in the dining room and flees immediately afterwards.

They never share a table, though. That’s too much socialisation with his two invaders than he’s comfortable with.

Surprisingly enough, Potter cleans up the detritus every time once this begins, usually arguing with Draco until he’s bullied into assisting (rather badly at first, the spoilt brat), and it doesn’t take him long before he’s hesitantly asking if Severus needs help cooking as well. Severus, who is greatly familiar with the travesty of Harry Potter in a potions’ classroom, vehemently declines for the sake of his sanity _and_ taste buds, not to mention the integrity of his kitchen itself – the last thing he needs is Potter burning down the house and leaving him homeless.

So Potter simply starts cooking himself when he has time after work before Severus has a chance to leave his lab.

To Severus’s eternal shock, Potter is wickedly inventive in the kitchen. Occasionally there are meals that are nothing to write home about, an experiment that doesn’t go as well as can hoped and has to be saved by a quick and bland meal on-the-go, but ultimately it’s quite fascinating to consume the things that Potter cooks, dissecting the ingredients he’s eating and utterly confused that _Potter_ of all fucking people is capable of edible (and dare he say delicious) creativity in the kitchen.

“I usually cooked for the Dursleys,” Potter had said one day, when Severus had come in for a cup of tea after working in the garden and hovered as he waited for it to steep, only somewhat uncomfortable due to the fact that he’d been focussed on Potter’s easy movements around his kitchen rather than anything further. He’d been making some sort of dish that Severus’s had vaguely recalled from a Guild conference in Marrakesh, and it had smelled divine. “When Petunia helped, it was one of the only times where I wasn’t being berated all the time, so it was actually kind of...nice. And now that I’m living on my own – well, kind of, since Luna, Ginny, and Dennis all live at Grimmauld Place too – I get to play around. I’ve never been too fond of takeout, myself, and I think Molly’s pleased that one of her kids is somewhat decent in a kitchen.”

Naturally, after a good two weeks of it all, it leads to biting and incredulous discussions about Potter’s abysmal potions education whist Severus and Potter bustle around for the Sunday roast.

“Severus has a point,” Draco says as he takes sips of his Firewhisky, languidly sitting at the little breakfast table like some sort of king at court. “If you’re instinctive and confident in a kitchen, there isn’t a reason as to why you would’ve been horrid at potions, at least before we went into theory after OWLs. Then again, you probably could’ve brewed consistently perfect potions and Severus still would’ve berated you. Not much confidence building, there. Still, I distinctly remember you being horrible at pretty much everything you did in the classroom, which doesn’t make much sense.”

“I never would’ve brewed consistently perfect potions anyway, considering you kept putting shit in my cauldrons in front of everyone and their grandmothers and not getting in trouble from this arsehole over here,” Potter says with amusement, gesturing towards Severus with a ladle and a grin.

Severus rolls his eyes, and whilst he doesn’t want to inject his opinion on the matter in the slightest, he hears himself say anyway, “Potions is instinctive rather than memorisation and theory, and had you an accommodating teacher and an environment that didn’t want you dead, you likely would’ve been able to claim potions as one of your best subjects, possibly even one that you loved.”

Potter snorts, but Draco says, “You’ve always been an instinctive wizard, Harry, so it’s a valid point. You did really well during the potions’ modules during Auror training, and you were a prodigy during Sixth Year.”

“Yeah, by cheating,” Potter grumbles.

There’s a shadow of irritation here at the reminder of his heavily modified text in the hands of Potter, but he lets it go because it’s irrelevant now. “I wouldn’t consider using greatly superior instructions cheating, Potter,” he says. “Perhaps you could’ve shared it with your classmates, but I highly doubt that most would’ve obliged you anyhow, and it’s certainly Slughorn’s error for using such outdated texts in his classroom as most of my adjustments to the potions were commonplace by the time you took his class. That text was old when I myself was a student. Considering your near-dreadful potions scores from prior years and the amount of stress you were under, you were warranted to utilise any leg up that you could get. Besides, if Horace wanted all of his students to be on an equal level, he would have done his duty per the school’s rules and made sure that all the second-hand texts given to students were unmarred, but he did not, so in all fairness, he’s the one that should be blamed for cheating, not you. If anything, consider it a classic Slytherin move on your part, Potter, and that is something to be celebrated.”

Potter gives him a strange look while Draco nods once in agreement, taking another languid sip of his whisky with a smirk.

* * *

Next, it’s the time limit of one month he’d imposed, which is disregarded most alarmingly.

Lucius doesn’t budge on his ultimatum, continuing his underhanded methods to enforce his demands (specifically keeping Draco penniless and disinherited), and while the poison missives cease, other odd things happen at Grimmauld Place: cursed objects, Howlers with masked voices, touch-activated Portkeys, and various other things that either get flown in by anonymously-owned owls or activate in the ancestral Black home themselves. There’s an Auror contingent that’s tracking it all, but Lucius is nothing if not resourceful and creative, as all Slytherins are, and there’s no way to tie the Malfoy patriarch to it.

Oddly enough, Severus enjoys his houseguests more often than he would ever admit out loud, though he supposes that they can guess well enough due to the fact that he hasn’t thrown the two of them out by their ears yet. It’s...not exactly nice, but he _does_ find some semblance of ease at the sounds of people rather than just his morbid, dark thoughts and potions bubbling in a cauldron. It’s strange that despite his constant pleas and demands for peace and quiet over the years from students and adults alike over his wretched life, he’s actually grown so accustomed to human noise. Even outside of regular conversation, it’s somehow soothing to hear footsteps in the corridors and the clatter of things in the kitchen and muffled laughter or arguments in the sitting room.

So he doesn’t throw them out once the time limit expires, and not only because the situation with Draco isn’t solved – he enjoys not being alone all the time, the sounds of life in his rundown little cottage, and if he’s perfectly honest, he’s growing reluctantly fond of Potter too.

Perhaps he has gone mad in his solitude for that thought alone.

* * *

Lastly and most alarmingly, it’s the blatant disregard of personal space, both towards himself and...otherwise.

They’re a well-organised operation in the kitchen now and that comes with its own measure of closeness – brushing against each other whilst moving about, handing each other ingredients or instruments, a sparse few times that result in a grasps of limbs when someone is about do something foolish or detrimental to the final product (surprisingly, they both do that, not just Severus) – but it slowly bleeds into everything else, not just dinner together at the rickety dining table.

Occasionally Draco is asleep by the time Potter gets home ( _and isn’t that an odd turn_ ) from the Ministry, so Severus and Potter will sit in front of the fireplace together, usually silent as they do their own paperwork or read but sometimes in quiet conversation. It’s obvious that Potter’s grown up, not completely but in the ways that make his company palpable to someone like Severus, and they get into long-winded discussions (and arguments, to be honest) about mutually engaging topics like the Dark Arts, politics, ethics, and Gilderoy Lockhart being utterly useless, amongst other things.

Then Severus starts allowing Draco into his lab to brew, which soon enough culminates in Potter joining them on his days off, studiously relearning the basics of the most crucial potions from his fiancé with the infrequent comment from Severus himself. Potter’s a quick learner, Severus will give him that, and he seems to thrive under patient but strict teaching, so it’s obvious that Severus mostly keeps his mouth shut and only gets involved if he absolutely has to. He’s inquisitive and curious, and he makes many mistakes when he gets comfortable with the staples of his profession – Blood Replenisher, Hangover Cure, Pain Relievers, Pepper-Up, and Stimulant Draughts – which results in amusing and infuriating concoctions when he tries to alter the existing recipes for taste. He’s not nearly to the level of Severus, nor will he ever be without a good ten years of education, and his theory-based knowledge will always be rubbish, but he’s certainly capable of brewing more than decent potions.

Sometimes Potter just watches Severus brew without Draco even being around, which is certainly odd in and of itself. Severus is no stranger to having an audience – after years of study for his Mastery, giving practical instruction to students when teaching a technique, and then brewing in front of the Dark Lord and the Order, he’s an old hat at being watched – but it’s different and strange. Severus isn’t sure if it’s because it’s been so long since he’s had an audience, if it’s the highly secretive lycanthropy potion he’s usually working on, or if it’s because it’s Potter himself, but it takes every iota of his focus to stay on task. In Potter’s defence, he’s quiet and polite, working on his own things or just _watching_ , but it’s heavily distracting.

When asked, Potter had just said, “It’s soothing – makes everything else go quiet.”

Severus hadn’t known how to respond to that, so he simply went back to work.

The ease of their company, not just Severus and Potter but Draco too, leads to overt physical contact becoming the norm as well. In the beginning, Potter and Draco had been careful to keep separation between them, as if even touching each other in passing would lead to clothes flying, but slowly they begin rotating around each other with a learnt familiarity full of ease and affection – they press against each other’s sides at dinner and during leisure time in the common areas, touch each other liberally but appropriately, and brush hair back from foreheads and behind ears with small smiles.

The relaxed intimacy of it is alien to Severus. He’s used to teenagers pawing at each other no matter the time or place, their hormones almost always at odds to the casual intimacy experienced by adults, and from any adult couples themselves, he’s spent more time in the company of highly formal Pure-bloods and older British persons, all of which consider public intimacy to be distance and looks rather than easy touch. He wonders if it’s this generation who are liberal with their physical affections or if it’s always been there, and he just hasn’t had the opportunity outside of the Dark Lord’s formal circle and unmarried professors at Hogwarts to see it first-hand. Merlin knows that Severus has never been in a relationship before, no matter the social status of his partner, and has never really desired one either outside of perhaps Lily (and that relationship itself is still so complicated even in his head that he can’t be certain _exactly_ what he’d wanted), so he hasn’t any personal experience in these matters.

He doesn’t say anything to make them cease their actions, though – there is something deeply comforting about seeing these two men being so uncommonly soft and familiar with each other, when he’s still used to them being separate entities with vastly different expectations upon their young shoulders, stretched thin and so weary as they try and try and _try_ to survive in a cruel, unfair world. He’s honestly and genuinely pleased to see them so easy with each other, because even though Potter’s still Potter – stubborn and rash, expecting the world to bend even though reality doesn’t quite work that way regardless of what one might hope – he’s confident that they’ll be happy with one another. He has no doubts about that, even when they inevitably fight and snark and complain about and to each other, sometimes loud enough to shake the walls no matter the strength of Severus’s silencing charms.

And then there’s the matter of their sexual relationship. As Severus had predicted, the growing comfort between them all in Severus’s humble abode results in Draco and Potter starting to bend the rules in response, and quite frankly, it’s both mortifying and intellectually fascinating.

To be fair, the beginning of their cohabitation had been strict to the rules, and when the two of them were home – or when one of them got an ‘urgent’ owl from the other – and in a mood, they’d always vacated the property post-haste. Severus had considered that a mercy, because after catching teenagers _in flagrante delicto_ for fourteen years, he has absolutely no desire to see or hear Draco and Potter in the thralls of coitus no matter how abstractly intriguing it is to watch their casual, non-sexual intimacy.

Severus has never had sex, and he’s never really had the urge to do so – not even his affections for Lily had ever brought about any sexual desire for her, and the whole idea of it is distasteful at best and alarming at worst. He sees how people get when they’re falling into bed with each other, reckless and hasty and completely incapable of making logical decisions, and considering the fact that he’d nearly killed himself just trying to save and then honour Lily’s memory _outside_ of a sexual connection, he can’t imagine how people function when they _do_ have said connection. Severus is too controlled that the idea of losing his mind with passion is horrifying.

He doesn’t know how much of that mentality is because of his self-preservation instincts or because he’d been forced to be a play a cruel role for most of his life and therefore never allowed himself to even contemplate being vulnerable with another person.

Nevertheless, lines start being crossed – first with chaste kisses shared in complete disregard of any possible company, then very much _not_ chaste kisses, and now _this_.

Doing rounds within the castle and breaking up hormonal teenagers was both hard and easy in hindsight. No adult with a sane mind or morals enjoyed seeing such flagrant displays of impropriety between children, so it was both disgusting and horrifying to happen upon them in alcoves or unused classrooms whilst in various stages of undress. Still, a biting remark and vicious belittling of their indecorous behaviour was more than enough to get them so mortified that they’d scramble to separate and fix their dishevelled clothing, accepting detentions with red faces as Severus berated them. On rare occasion, they were so loud that they’d forgotten prowling teachers and seeing such depraved activities with his own eyes could be avoided altogether, which was quite merciful in Severus’s opinion. And considering the wards on the castle as well as the portraits and ghosts monitoring, it hadn’t been like the students had been able to get very far in their rule-breaking activities regardless – patrolling teachers had been able to intercept before anything too untoward could happen between the hormonal idiots.

Also in Severus’s opinion, all students should have been mandated to ingest lust-dampening potions with their morning breakfast under threat of detention with himself or Filch, but he’d been wholly overruled by staff every time he’d brought it up at meetings.

 _This_ , however, is not as simple.

To begin with, while he’s not personally familiar with sexual aspects of love, he is fully aware that it seems to be something not easily controlled between two adults in a consensual relationship, especially not within the comfort of one’s home. And there is no doubt that despite their initial displeasure all-around with the situation, Severus’s humble abode is now...well, _their_ home as well.

Secondly, he isn’t sure what the etiquette is with breaking up two adults in the throes of pleasure is. Of course there are rules to be followed here, same as at Hogwarts, and rule seven explicitly states no sexual activity under Severus’s roof (even though he’s vaguely aware that with the bending of the rules, they’ve almost certainly been breaking said rule in the privacy of their own rooms, but since it’s indeed private, he hasn’t bothered to mentioned it). Still, he can’t exactly sweep in with tightly-clenched eyes, berating them mercilessly while assigning detentions and taking points, as this is not the castle but their home and they’re both of age. He supposes that he could threaten to kick either Potter or _both_ of them out and force them to cohabitate at Grimmauld Place with the rest of Potter’s unmarried cohorts, which would terrify Draco to celibacy most likely from the horror of _impropriety_ , but if Severus is being entirely truthful to himself, he doesn’t really want either of them to leave until they’re safe and secure enough to do so. He...actually enjoys their company, even Potter’s, even if he’ll go to the grave denying it.

Thirdly, he’s never actually seen anything with his own two eyes that has elevated to this level of depravity, as he’s never had sexual relations and hasn’t had the interest to search out pornography in the slightest. Again, the students in the castle had been intercepted before anything too improper took place, so the most damning thing he’s ever witnessed is shirts being unbuttoned or hands down trousers. He’s certainly never interrupted anything that’s to _this_ level of undress, let alone action.

Lastly, it’s blatantly obvious that it’s Draco’s fault, rather than Potter’s, and he’s always been soft for Draco.

Severus stands in the doorway of the kitchen silently, staring in a mixture of horror and disbelief as Draco holds Potter down forcibly, a wicked grin on his face as he uses his fingers on—dear Merlin, but that does look positively bizarre and uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Severus isn’t sure how Potter could enjoy being penetrated like that while being bent at such an unpleasant angle over the kitchen table, the edge obviously digging into the skin of his back, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Potter’s _obviously_ aroused by it judging by the wet rigidness of his prick and the movement of his hips, he’d think Draco was hurting him just by the expression on Potter’s face.

He supposes he’s always known in abstract what men do during coitus, but it’s another thing entirely to see it being done in practise.

What’s even stranger about the scene in front of him is that Draco’s fully clothed whilst Potter is as naked as the day he was born, a stark power imbalance that is only reinforced by the language Draco’s using. He’s positively _degrading_ Potter, crude and utterly improper for polite company, and Potter is clearly more than receptive to it, his fist flying over his erection and moaning in the back of his throat as he makes a valiant attempt to stay as quiet as he can.

Severus blinks, shakes himself, absently wonders if he’s finally lost his bloody mind, and drawls irritably, “What in the absolute _fuck_ are you doing?”

And to Severus’s absolute horror, Potter sobs out “Oh my _God_ ” and arches sharply, ejaculate pulsing out of his prick onto his own chest and Draco’s pristine robes.

Severus is torn between spitting vitriol at them, cursing their genitals off, hexing them off his property, or simply fleeing for his own sanity, and there are so many contrasting thoughts rolling around in his brain that he ends up just standing there, completely unable to do anything but gape at the two of them in a rare show of visible emotion because what in the absolute _hell_ has just happened in front of his very eyes?

At least to Draco’s credit, he yelps and pulls his fingers out of Potter’s body, scrambling for the robes carelessly tossed over the back of a nearby chair, but the damage is already done – Potter’s too out of his mind with it that he just rides his release out, hips jerking and thrashing wildly enough that the table creaks warningly from the rough treatment, and not even Draco hastily-thrown robes over Potter’s convulsing body can erase the sight of Potter in orgasm. It’s probably been permanently branded into Severus’s brain now, and he’s half tempted to excuse himself so he can make an attempt to drown himself in the nearby lake.

That is far more Potter (of any generation) than he’s ever wanted to see with his own eyes, and he is _mentally scarred for life_.

By the time Potter’s capable of speech, Draco’s already babbled himself into a frenzy, apologising profusely for the blatant rule breaking, and Potter interrupts the shrill rambling with a remarkably calm but breathless, “I am _so_ sorry, sir. That will never happen again, and I’ll personally replace the table with something appropriate to your tastes.”

“I hate both of you,” Severus tells them both flatly before he spins on his heel and heads to his lab, mind already working on potential potions that he could take to erase that memory post-haste.

* * *

The new table is indeed acceptable to his tastes.

What is _not_ is the fact that all of his perfectly serviceable sitting room furniture is replaced as well, and he has a sneaking, horrifying suspicion that he’d been sitting on a sofa that’s been _defiled_ ; he has to take an hour-long shower once said suspicion had entered his mind before he feels clean again.

Mercifully, Potter puts him out of his misery the next time Severus sees him, cutting off Severus’s biting remarks about rule-breaking: “We didn’t—er, we didn’t do anything there, if that’s why you’re glaring at the armchair. They were just shoddy sofas, the springs always stabbing me in the back, and I was already at the shop so I made a few impulse buys. I can return them if you want, though I’m fairly certain Draco _Incendio_ ’d all your old stuff in the back garden.”

The new set is comfortable and tasteful though, so he just huffs irritably and goes to make lunch for the three of them, eyes determinedly avoiding the new kitchen table lest he have a coronary.

* * *

By the time the two of them have been living with Severus for three months, he’s actively interrupting.

He’s gleefully cheerful underneath his annoyed façade because it’s...actually, it’s honestly rather good _fun_ to ruin the mood with perfectly executed plans, and as a man who hasn’t had ‘fun’ since he was still friends with Lily, he’s enjoying it the sparsely-experienced levity immensely. The nudity and compromising positions don’t even phase him any longer on the occasions he’s exposed to it – it’s mostly because Draco and Potter aren’t children, which does wonders for his mental health in that regard, but there’s also the fact that he sees it so often that he’s immune to it. There are only so many times one can see the same naked bodies before the shock wears off, after all, and as far as Severus is concerned, they’re the ones still trying to climb each other in the common areas despite having been caught on multiple occasions, so Severus is completely unsympathetic.

He charms tables they’re laid on to dance, hexes the wall they’re pressed against to make them break out in boils (easily treatable, of course), and sets their bed on fire (non-damaging and non-harmful, naturally) when they accidentally leave one of their bedroom doors open. Non-magical means are utilised too: he sprays them with the sink hose when they’re on the kitchen table _again_ , throws dirt at them while he’s out in the garden and they haven’t even managed to make it into the house to fondle each other like teenagers, and slams books closed when they don’t realise he’s in the sitting room reading. It’s a great amusement _and_ has the added bonus of keeping Severus on his toes, forcing him to think quickly on his feet when he walks in on them.

Of course, to Potter’s defence, he always seems to _try_ and get to a private location first, as Severus sees and overhears on multiple occasions, but Draco seems to have a one-tracked mind once he’s in a mood, and Potter’s too indulgent (and hormonal, apparently) to argue very much.

As immune to their naked forays as Severus is however, Draco and Potter decidedly _do not_ become impervious to Severus’s wand-happy interruptions. It’s always highly amusing to see them shriek or scramble for cover, and on a few occasions, he even laughs out loud, earning a furious glare from Draco and an embarrassed cringe from Potter. Severus is entirely unapologetic though, and generally tells them that “if you want to stop being interrupted by your gracious host, follow rule seven you blithering idiots”. It’s not his fault that they don’t stop, and if they continue breaking the rules, then Severus will be forced to expand his formidable creativity as it would be poor form to repeat the same interrupting action twice.

Severus even gets some defensive practise in because Potter’s a very capable duellist, wand or not. He’s missed duelling, honestly, and regrettably his own skills had grown dull with his time in isolation, so he does initially get subjected to quite a few Bat-Bogey Hexes and various Stunners or Binds until he re-establishes his own lightning-quick reflexes. Still, Potter is wicked fast and dangerously creative himself, so he occasionally does get caught in one of Potter’s knee-jerk spells he flares out when they’re interrupted. After every quick back-and-forth between them, Severus always has the thought to ask Potter if he’d like to have a bit of a duel in the front garden just to see how far Potter’s come through his Auror training and profession, as Severus’s baseline for him had been during his school-days and even then he’d been capable of matching Severus’s own not-inconsiderable abilities with a wand. He therefore can’t help but be intellectually curious as both a Dark Arts and Defence practitioner and as a...well. Severus and Potter have a hell of a history, yes, but despite his initial intentions, he’s gone past ‘growing fond’ and is just simply fond of Potter in entirety. He would even go as far to say that Potter is a friend, one of the three living friends he has, Draco and Minerva being the others.

Somewhere in his distant _and_ not-too-distant past, he’s lighting himself on fire for the sentiment.

It’s not all walking in on them and sabotaging Draco and Potter’s sex life though. All of them work, but Draco begins helping him brew commissions and surplus when he’s not lobbying so Severus can focus on the lycanthropy cure, which is in its final stages based off the most recent testing – Severus is so close he can almost _taste_ it – and requires a significant amount of concentration. If his most recent calculations are correct, he thinks they might only be a test or two away from a solution, and it’s a heady feeling, knowing that they’re so undeniably close to a cure in his own lifetime, especially since _Severus_ is the one who’s brewed it.

Potter comes home in a right snit one evening, ranting and raving about idiot bureaucrats (so standard day really), blasted paperwork (certainly atrocious as Severus has seen the mountain of parchment brought home every evening), and Lucius Malfoy (Severus sympathises most ardently with that particular complaint). He’s irritable and snappish, eventually saying something carelessly cruel in his anger that makes Draco jerk back in a surprised hurt, and Severus ends up grabbing Potter’s arm with a scowl, yanking him to the front garden in the middle of dinner. Draco’s puttering behind them, begging Severus to be reasonable and not throw his fiancé out, but luckily for him, Severus is not at all contemplating that particular action. Instead, he pushes Potter away and then draws his wand, shooting an _Impedimenta_ at his face quicker than Potter can even open his mouth to shoot vitriol back.

It works astonishingly well, Severus and Potter really going at it until they’re both drooping and sore, and the fight seems to bleed out of Potter now that all of the rage and excess energy has been released. He apologises to Draco, smiles at Severus, and Severus ends up spending a good two hours out of the house, as this time _Potter’s_ the one who can’t hold back his impulses until they’re absconded into a bedroom. For once, Severus doesn’t interrupt, repairing the front garden and then fussing about with his planting until he’s certain they must be done.

To Severus’s enjoyment, for lack of a better term, Severus and Potter take to duelling fairly regularly after that, and it’s both physically and mentally engaging. Potter is significantly more practised and experienced now, and they relish the opportunity to curse and hex the living hell out of each other when they both have time to unwind. Severus learns quite a bit, and he’s free with his own instruction as well – now that they are friendly, with mutual respect and easy familiarity seeping into their once-violent relationship, they both gleefully and smugly share tips and tricks freely, certainly making each other more deadly and formidable in a duel.

Severus supposes that that’s when Potter becomes _Harry_ , both in verbal communication and in his own thoughts, and in return, his own familiar name is used as well.

It’s actually surprising how normal it feels.

* * *

At the four-month mark, Lucius finally folds.

It’s a mixture of many different things that Severus believes begrudgingly changed his mind: Draco being completely functional and even flourishing without his vast inheritance being needed, which undoubtedly Lucius had not been expecting; Harry completely ignoring Lucius’s threats and bribes in order to make Lucius look like the unhinged one whilst also heading a relentless public relations’ campaign that ensured his relationship with Draco was always on the front page of every paper; Narcissa both constantly imploring Lucius to see reason and giving her husband the cold shoulder (and, without a doubt, probably refusing to have another child, if Severus knows Lucius as well as he imagines); the overwhelming positivity in the press and Ministry regarding Draco and Harry’s relationship as well as the date of their wedding being officially set; and Lucius’s complete isolation from associates and business partners because it was political suicide to go against Harry, not to mention that the entire Wizarding world was benefiting from laws being passed by the Ministry (spearheaded by Draco, Harry, and Granger), which made it financially unwise to back Lucius.

Also, Severus had sent the man a letter himself – the first person outside of Minerva, Draco, and Harry who’s heard from him directly, either in writing or otherwise – and said letter had practically been dripping in red ink, Severus’s irritation and viciousness clear in every single stroke of his quill.

It’s not that he particularly wants them gone, though at the same time he does in a way. He enjoys their company, more than he would’ve ever expected before allowing them (particularly Harry) into his secluded life, but he’s hit the point where not only are his social reserves near-depleted, but he’s simply tired of not watching them move on in their life. He’s fully aware that Lovegood has spontaneously married Rolf Scamander, Creevey has taken a position in Peru for research, and Weasley is finally on tour with the Harpies, so Grimmauld Place is empty of all inhabitants for Harry’s solitary use, a first since _After_. With Lucius capitulating, Draco is free to return to his family seat until his wedding in November, and Harry is able to start preparations to make Grimmauld Place their home once they’re married.

So Lucius waves the white flag first and asks for a family meeting, Harry surprisingly included.

They come back together and there’s an air of relieved excitement about them (so at least Lucius hadn’t used the capitulation as a lure to murder Harry once at the Manor, not that such a thing would’ve gone well for Lucius), but there is certainly a hint of melancholy as well, and Severus echoes this sentiment. He’s grown used to inventive meals and duelling in the front garden and fascinating conversation and having _fun_ , as odd as that is to think about, and he’s unsure as to...how he’ll be able to return back to his prior isolation when he’s grown so comfortable with his houseguests.

He does suppose that there are some advantages to this development, if he’s being perfectly honest. The next trial is ongoing, and he’s confident that they’ll have the complete success to make it a _final_ trial. Of course, if it is successful and a second test of the same solution is also successful, the batch will have to be brewed in significant quantity and shipped in-bulk to the ICW for international testing on various genders, races, magical levels, and such, but the various genetic compositions of any werewolves in voluntary trials are astronomically unlikely to interfere with the brew’s potency. They do have to mass-test for obvious reasons but considering it’s an actual _cure_ instead of a potion to manage symptoms, Severus fully expects a quick turnaround for mass human trials, no more than three to five months and likely even less. By the end of the human trials and the beginning of mass production under open patent, Draco will be comfortable and in order, readying himself for marriage with planning and getting Grimmauld Place to a place where he’ll be caught dead living in it.

Severus’s parchment will finally complete.

There’s something very calming about that, that the end is almost here, but at the same time, for the first time since he walked into a half-destroyed cottage and held his childhood friend’s body in his arms, a small voice in the back of his head asks _why_. That makes him strangely nervous, after so long just waiting to die once his pittance was paid in a numb haze of self-hatred and depression, but it’s ultimately irrelevant. His friendship with Draco and Harry is a brief chapter of surprising brightness in his miserable life, and they are both off to have beautiful experiences with each other. Soon, they will be swept up into wedding preparation, considering they only have a little over five months until the ceremony, and will begin the next chapter of _their_ lives, with politics and tabloid fascination and domestic bliss and, eventually, children. Severus has no place in that, his existence only a ghost on the periphery of their remarkable lives, and perhaps it would’ve been kinder for all of them if Severus and Harry hadn’t stumbled into their unlikely friendship, because Draco is pragmatic enough to move on in time but Harry is not. Harry feels everything so keenly, and those feelings do not fade with time, each memory just as harsh and painful as if it’d never healed.

Severus has been in his mind too many times to not know that intimately.

As Draco heads to their rooms to begin collecting their trunks and any remaining items wandering about, Harry stays back, approaching Severus as he bustles about for tea after a sweeping wave of his wand ( _Muffaito_ , perhaps a repellent jinx, and Severus should be alarmed but he’s somehow not). Severus easily moves around him in a practised ease, both of them collecting the service, as Harry murmurs, “It’s going to be strange, being alone.”

There are many ways to take that, Severus supposes, but he understands Harry’s point, that _both_ of them will soon be alone in their own homes. “Yes,” he says simply, tone nonchalant as he heats the kettle.

“I think...perhaps I wasn’t supposed to see, but I couldn’t help but notice anyway. Hazard of my job and being moulded into a child soldier, I suppose,” Harry says slowly, and Severus glances over to see a strange, almost pained expression on Harry’s face. Those eerily-familiar green eyes stare at him without blinking as he continues quietly, “Would you much mind if I suggested something for your list?”

Severus carefully does not react, going to pour the hot water in the pot for a steep, and he doesn’t bother to ponder what Harry’s assessment of said list is. Severus hadn’t been so childish as to name it something needlessly dramatic, like _List of Things to Accomplish Before I Kill Myself_ , but contrary to his own beliefs in the past, Harry’s not stupid, and they are rather alike in a way, as Harry had claimed at the beginning of their cohabitation. It is not exactly hard to make a reasonable deduction if he’d seen Severus staring at the old parchment every night precisely at eleven, stone-faced and numb and yet _yearning_ for some semblance of peace, and Harry’s always been observant. It’s one of his most endearing _and_ frustrating qualities.

He debates saying no, then wonders if it would be so terrible to say yes, and ultimately asks smoothly, “What are you suggesting?”

They both sit, and despite the dark topic they’re talking around, Severus feels comfortable enough to meet Harry’s eyes. It’s such a strange thing, to be comfortable around this man, and Severus muses as to what Lily would say, what _James Potter_ would say, if they could see Severus with their grown son like this, calm and easy and familiar.

Harry says, “Short-term? You very well might balk, but we want you at our wedding.”

“Surrounded by happy attendees that will gawk and pester me with imbecilic questions and cheerful accolades that mean nothing to me, you mean,” Severus says evenly.

A ghost of a smile creeps up on Harry’s face. “Well, you’ll get a personal view of what my life’s like, I reckon, though I have a feeling most people will still be too scared of you to approach.”

Severus huffs, though there isn’t any heat in it. He thinks about it, Harry patiently waiting as he checks the tea and pours them both a cuppa when he’s satisfied by the colour and scent, and is strangely torn. He hasn’t any desire to be surrounded by his old students and their parents, especially after so long in solitude, but he does have an inkling of curiosity for it, and he can’t help but ponder if it would be nice, if he could watch these two extraordinary men marry under the old rites, the same way Lily married Harry’s father. He supposes an argument could even be made regarding the list he has now – he’d written ‘ _ensure Draco remains alive and well until his affairs are in order_ ’, and seeing through to the wedding would certainly ensure that Draco’s affairs would indeed be in order, regardless of whether or not he’d attend the actual ceremony.

He also can’t help but wonder if he’s making excuses out of fear of his inevitable death, despite longing for it since the day he’d signed Lily’s death warrant.

There’s no reason to talk in vague circles, so Severus says bluntly, “I can hold off on any permanent plans until you are married, but I shall think about your invitation.”

A flash of pain in Harry’s eyes at the frank and casual mention of his impending suicide ( _he wishes Harry didn’t care about him, this would be so much easier_ ), but Harry smiles a bit wider nevertheless. “That’s nice. We wouldn’t make you part of the party—”

“I should hope not,” Severus mutters, appalled at the thought.

“—but it would be nice if you were there, skulking in a corner in all black. It’s not like we’re inviting the entire Royal Family and gentry either, contrary to what Narcissa wants.”

“I’ll think about it, for Circe’s sake.”

Harry mercifully stops mentioning their impending wedding and Severus’s attendance, but the alternative is somehow worse because it’s so calm despite the subject matter: “Draco doesn’t know what you’re planning to do, you know.”

Severus takes a moment to digest that – he’s unsurprised, if he’s honest, because Draco has never been observant in the ways Harry is, but he also finds it strange that Harry (notorious for over-sharing with the people he loves and trusts) knows and yet Draco _doesn’t_ – and he can’t help but ask, “Have you not told him?”

Harry exhales with what could’ve been laughter if he dared to be louder, risking Draco overhearing their conversation even with his magical deterrents. After all, Draco could still come down and read their lips, though he’s always been horrid at such things, even if he’s much more likely to throw a strop if he knows he’s being left out of a serious conversation between Severus and his fiancé. Quietly, Harry says, “Of course not. We’re all entitled to secrets, and as much as I love him, there are things that I will never tell him, things that are better left buried.”

Severus doesn’t have to ask what they are – _horcruxes, Severus’s memories, Harry’s secret desire to murder his uncle, Severus’s impending death, so many more, all for the Greater Good, Merlin but they’ve taught him well_ – and instead says, “Ensure that remains so.”

“Naturally,” Harry murmurs. He takes a sip of his tea and says, “The reasoning behind my assumption as to Draco’s ignorance is that long-term, Draco wants you to be our child’s godfather.”

Severus freezes with surprise and no small amount of shock, and Harry grins for a second, sharp and lacking any genuine amusement, before he says lightly, “I wouldn’t be averse to it in the slightest and of course Ron’ll be sharing those duties too, so it’s not like we’re creating a single point of failure if something were to happen to us, as unlikely as that is if I’m being perfectly honest and slightly arrogant.”

“How predictable,” Severus manages to drawl through the overwhelming flow of disbelief and vague horror.

“Shut up,” Harry says, and Severus can hear the amusement. Then he continues, “Look, I’m not going to lie and say that I want you to top yourself off if that’s what you really want, because obviously I don’t want that. Like it or not, you’re family now, and I’d like to see if you discover any other crazy cures in the future and watch you be all, well, _you_ with my child. But it’s not my choice, and as much as I _hate_ the idea of it, you have to do what you think is best for you, what you think you can live with. Just...maybe stick around for a bit, at least until November, and think about it in the meantime? If it helps, I think the Guild will probably move to curing vampirism once your lycanthropy cure hits the market, so that might be an interesting puzzle.”

“It is the second most pressing affliction,” Severus admits, though he’s never done much research on it – there hadn’t been a personal stake in the matter, the vampires mostly staying out of the two wars despite being courted by both sides of it, and Severus has never been around them much, nor has he been attacked by one. The vampiric community has always been voluntarily isolated in communes, and they’re generally lazy and unmotivated to do anything but lounge around drinking the blood subsidised by the ICW and sleeping their undead lives away. Unless that funded blood supply is lost (supremely unlikely), the vampire community will continue to whittle about their days in a lethargic haze rather than attacking living people during the night.

That being said, he knows that the Guild will look into the matter of a cure like Harry postulates, and it is undeniably an interesting problem. The affliction comes from a pathogen infects the magical population, same as lycanthropy, and mutates genetic code through magical means, but rather than a virus, the affliction comes from a parasitic—

Severus’s thoughts snap to attention when his distracted brain registers the hopeful, but almost smug glint in Harry’s eyes, and he says flatly, “I’m onto you, Harry Potter.”

Harry laughs. “I learnt a lot from Albus Dumbledore, Severus, and underhanded means to an end is one of those lessons. I’m certainly not going apologise for it, if it means keeping you in our lives for that much longer.” His eyes flick to the side and his face instantly brightens like the sunrise, the way it always does when he sees Draco, and Severus sees the minute movement of his right arm that signals the removal of spells.

Draco walks in with a suspicious frown. “What are you two being all secretive about?”

“Nothing of importance,” Harry says airily, grinning widely as he stands, pressing a kiss against Draco’s temple on his way to rinse out his teacup.

Of course, Draco doesn’t buy it in the slightest, but Harry has grown remarkably adept at spinning narratives to his advantage, and judging by the knowing eyebrow he raises, Draco probably assumes that Harry’s planning something regarding the wedding based off Harry’s carefully cheerful lie. Severus has no inclination to convince him otherwise, though, so he remains silent, playing his part by allowing his lips to curve into a smirk that he very deliberately tries to hide, and Draco harrumphs with displeasure, though Severus can see the delight he can’t mask.

“Fine, keep your dreadful secrets, you insufferable bastards,” Draco intones tetchily, turning his pointed nose up at both of them. Then he says, “We’ve a meeting with the event planner in an hour, Harry, so do hurry up, if you please. I would very much despise having to reschedule, as it was a marvel we were able to acquire the slot in the first place. Daniella Patil does not often have cancellations in her diary, and I assure you we won’t see another and will be forced to wait three months for another appointment if we’re late for this one.”

“I still say you should take your mother and Pans,” Harry says, winking at Severus as he puts away his clean cup and spoon.

Before Draco can open his mouth for the predictable histrionics, Severus adds dryly, “Be gone with both of you, so I can finish my tea without having to be subjugated to your depraved fornication all over my furniture.”

Harry laughs brightly whilst Draco splutters in mortification.

He walks them out, humming noncommittedly as Draco pesters him to visit Grimmauld Place at his earliest convenience – “We’ve managed to mostly erase all traces of Dark Magic in the common areas, but there are some very tricky remnants in the upper levels, which I think you would rather enjoy to untangle now that the property is free of red-headed weasels,” he says pointedly, cleanly dodging Harry’s shove – and ignores Harry’s hopeful looks. Gods, but it’s not like Harry couldn’t deal with it himself, considering how well-versed he is in Curse Breaking not to mention his association with the eldest Weasley spawn, but he supposes he could take a look during the wait for the lycanthropy cure test results, as long as there are no prior students or _other_ Weasleys lurking.

He wonders if Harry ever managed to remove old Walburga’s portrait and if so, how he’d managed to remove the charm.

He stops at the edge of his anti-Apparition wards at the overgrown gate, allowing them to walk past and turn towards him. Draco says his droll goodbyes, already making plans for a dinner together within the fortnight, and Harry looks at Severus evenly, familiar green eyes over-bright in the overcast light.

“Think about it,” he says simply.

Severus stares back for a long moment and finally says, “I shall.”

Harry smiles.

* * *

A week later, full from his evening at Grimmauld Place, Severus pulls out his parchment and begins to write.

**Author's Note:**

> [Reblog on tumblr.](https://meshkol-creations.tumblr.com/post/616741650245500928/a-list-on-parchment-meshkol-ashernorton)


End file.
